


The Other Boy

by trajektoria



Series: The Other [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Belly Rubs, Christmas Fluff, Fawnlock, First Meetings, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, Language Barrier, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, a brave and adventurous boy, gets lost in the forest. Could it be any worse? Of course, since he meets there quite an extraordinary creature and befriends him. It seems that even the language barrier and cultural differences can't stop the boys from having fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [bennyslegs](http://bennyslegs.tumblr.com/) who created this wonderful AU.
> 
> The story was inspired by [taikova's beautiful picture](http://taikova.tumblr.com/post/41731329324/but-youve-got-sticks-growing-from-your-head).
> 
> There might be more if a muse strikes me again. Any comments and kudos will be greatly appreciated :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text.

It was time to face the truth - John was horribly lost. No matter how painful that conclusion was to his seven-year-old ego, he couldn't delude himself any further. 

The excursion seemed like such a good idea at the beginning! He had just moved to the countryside from London with his family and the forest near the village enchanted him from the get-go. It just looked so beautiful, so inviting, with its lush foliage, mirthful chirping of birds and the subtle but refreshing scent of flowers. Just by looking at it John felt like one of the explorers from the days long gone, who were bravely venturing on an adventure to the uncharted lands in search of knowledge and treasures. John had always been an inquisitive lad, so he couldn't resist the call of an exciting experience. He felt the forest beckoning him. John begged his mother for two days straight to let him go to the woods and finally she agreed with an exasperated sigh. She only warned him not to go too far and be back before lunch. John agreed eagerly to these terms, but he had his own agenda. How proud his mother would be if he came back with some mushrooms! She might even cook that delicious soup, John's favourite! Without any hesitation the boy set out determinedly on his quest to find some _boletus edulis_ and become the hero of the day. 

That was more than four hours ago and John was pretty sure that it was way past lunch already. His stomach was rumbling, he hadn't found even half of a mushroom cap and he was apparently going deeper and deeper into the forest without any sense of direction. Some other child might have been terribly frightened by this predicament, but not John Hamish “Lionheart” Watson. He kept repeating to himself that he was a brave little soldier and soldiers didn't cry, didn't want to go to their mums, and their knees certainly weren't wobbly as they traversed an unknown territory. It must have been the fault of his tiredness and definitely not the anxiety rising in his chest that he tripped over a root and tumbled down the grassy escarpment, screaming in terror at the top of his lungs.

John groaned in pain and sat up, examining himself. It seemed that apart from a few cuts and bruises and an impressive collection of leaves and twigs in his hair, nothing had really happened to him. Good. If he had broken anything right now that would be very not good. He noticed a tear on his muddy jeans, but he had more pressing concerns. The boy looked around, wondering where he was, when suddenly he heard rustling in the nearby bushes.

John froze, his hands clenching on the grass until his knuckles turned white. Was that a bear? Could it be? Bears were dangerous, he heard that once on television. But surely there weren't any bears in English woods. Right...?

The rustle sounded again, louder this time, and John saw something brown emerging from the bushes and prancing quickly to the nearest rock, hiding behind it, the rock just a few inches from John. The boy couldn't notice many details, the thing was gone too quickly, but he was pretty sure that he saw antlers. A deer then. Or rather a fawn, since the creature seemed rather small. John exhaled with relief and laughed a little to give himself some courage. Nothing to be afraid of, fawns were harmless after all.

The strange sound that John made apparently caught the beast's attention. The tips of two antlers slowly appeared behind the rock followed by a mess of dark, curly hair and a pair of very blue and very human eyes that were filled with a mixture of hesitation, caution, and burning curiosity, overshadowing everything else. 

“Um... Hello,” John greeted the creature haltingly, remembering good manners that his mum had taught him. He wasn't even sure that the fawn understood what was being said, but politeness couldn't hurt. Maybe he would at least react to the amiable tone of voice. “It's okay, I won't hurt you.” 

The beast very slowly climbed onto the rock, his gaze transfixed on the boy. John could finally take a good look at this strange individual. He had never seen anything like this. The creature was completely naked, smaller than him and probably younger. It had the willowy form of a human boy but with an additional pair of antlers, long furry ears that were twitching in agitation and a short, fluffy and cute tail. His whole body seemed to be covered in light brown fur with occasional patches of darker and thicker coat in various spots, like between his legs and on the ruff around his neck. Overall, its appearance was quite easy on the eyes.

The behaviour of the creature wasn't so pleasing though. The antler boy puffed out his chest, making aggressive grunts, his nostrils flared, his ears pricked up and his little tail flapping quickly up and down in a mesmerising and threatening manner. He was obviously doing his best to appear intimidating, but his efforts weren't sufficiently appreciated. John just tilted his head and stared at him with curiosity, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The whole scene was actually more amusing than scary. It was like watching a kitten that tries to roar – just endearing. John burst out into a hearty laughter.

The poor creature seemed really confused and perhaps even a little hurt by John's reaction. He whimpered in a very resentful way, the questioning lilt in his voice betraying the need to understand the situation. John's fearlessness must have impressed him. Very slowly and hesitantly the antler boy moved closer to the human, most of his body still leaning on the rock, and extended his hand towards the intruder. John was still, not wanting to frighten him away, but he was intrigued what this fawn, as he called him in his mind, was up to. 

The creature's slender and deft fingers entwined into John's hair, searchingly massaging his scalp. It was quite a pleasant feeling, John had to admit. After examining John's skull meticulously, the fawn hummed quizzically, his fingers picking out the leaves and twigs from John's fair locks. Another sigh of surprise escaped his throat, this time more thoughtful. John was wondering if the sticks on top of his own head caused the fawn to mistake him for one of his own kind. Whatever that kind was, really.

“Thanks,” John said, smiling at him and trying to appear friendly. The fawn snorted something in response and gracefully slid from the rock to the ground. He was now sitting in front of John, his ears trembling in excitement. After another low hum and without any hesitation, the creature leaned to John, sniffing at him furiously. The fawn began with John's sneakers, touching the soles with his impatient fingers, then moved up to the trousers, caressing the fabric, the jumper and he finally buried his face in John's neck, the fur tickling gently against the boy's skin.

“Oi, stop it!” John laughed, but didn't push him away. His mum had always taught him to respect the culture and customs of other people. Maybe that was the way of saying hello in the forest? John didn't want to be rude, he was a guest here after all, so he in turn carefully sniffed at the fawn's shoulder. His scent was strong, but not unpleasant. It reminded John of wet mud with a tinge of the freshness of the air right after a storm. The creature must have deemed John's smell nice as well, since he hummed again happily, nuzzling his face against the boy's hair. John vaguely remembered using a new shampoo the night before. Maybe his head still smelled of apples. Apparently it did, because John felt a rough and wet tongue sliding across his ear and scalp.

“Uh, gross!” he protested, pulling back and wiping his skin with a sleeve. Cultural differences or not, licking each other was a bit too much to stomach. The fawn wasn't pleased either. He yelped in disgust and disappointment, cleaning his tongue furiously with his fingers. The sight was so adorable that John simply couldn't remain angry at him. He chuckled, reaching into his pocket, from where he produced a small brown, rectangular package.

“Here, you can wash away my taste with this. I can only imagine how uneatable I must be.” John smiled and unwrapped the fudge. He was always carrying a few with him to nibble at whenever he felt peckish. This was his last one, so he hoped the fawn would appreciate the sacrifice. John put the candy on the palm of his hand and extended it to the creature. The beast sniffed at it carefully, but shot the human a confused glance. He didn't know what to do with it.

“You can eat it,” John explained, but noting the lack of reaction, he took the fudge, pulled at both ends and after it was divided more or less into two halves, he put his portion into his mouth, chewing on it loudly. He moved the other hand nearly under the fawn's nose, encouraging him to take a bite. 

The fawn murmured something defiantly, but his curiosity won in the end. The creature sniffed at the candy one more time and finally picked it up, putting it carefully into his mouth. His jaws munched slowly at the fudge, the candy sticking horribly to his gums and teeth. The equally surprised and delighted expressions he was making, elicited another fit of laughter from John. This time, though, the cheerfulness was infectious and the fawn laughed for the first time. Great. At least John knew that the creature he had encountered was truly a sentient and intelligent being. Maybe they could even become friends?

“What's your name?” he asked when the fudge in his mouth turned into a tasty memory. The fawn licked his lips with relish, but didn't seem to understand. “I'm John. J-O-H-N,” he spelled his name distinctly, pointing to himself. 

The fawn nodded and looked thoughtful for a while as if he was playing the unfamiliar sounds in his mind over and over again. Finally he took a deep breath, creased his forehead in concentration and said with difficulty,

“Jóhń....” His voice was low and rumbling and the accent very thick, but John didn't mind. He whooped cheerfully and clapped his hands. 

“Yes, that's right!”

The fawn grinned, baring his teeth. He looked very proud of himself. 

“Jóhń,” he repeated with more conviction and then pointed to himself. The word that left his throat was a long and ancient sounding cluster of consonants and there was no way John could be ever able to repeat it. The only part that he caught was the ending, resembling something along the lines of 'lock'.

“Um... Sorry, I can't really pronounce that...” he said apologetically, which caused the fawn to huff in annoyance. He seemed offended. John definitely couldn't allow that. Fortunately he got an idea. “You know, when I first saw you I thought you were a fawn. Can I call you that? Fawnlock? It sounds nice, doesn't it? F-A-W-N-L-O-C-K,” John proposed hopefully.

The fawn scratched his neck, pensively, but finally nodded his assent.

“Fąwńlóćk. Jóhń,” he lisped. It was a promising start, so John spent the next hour just teaching his new friend English words. Fawnlock's learning aptitude was extraordinary. John nearly forgot about being lost in the woods, and when he heard a woman's voice booming through the forest and calling his name, he was startled. 

“Oh, that's my mum! I have to go now. But I promise I will come tomorrow, okay?” John said, looking at him intently to make him understand.

“Ókąy,” Fawnlock imitated the word with a smile. He didn't know what it meant but he guessed instinctively that it was something good.

John waved him goodbye and dashed to meet his mum, knowing that whatever reprimand he might get after coming home, it would be worth meeting a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [ thatsaralacey](http://thatsaralacey.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. Go and follow her, she's the best!
> 
> It took me quite a while, but finally the next chapter is here. I have lots of ideas for this fic, including John and Sherlock being teenagers and adults. Comments and kudos are appreciated.

There was nothing else John would rather do than to run straight to the forest before he had even properly opened his eyes and brushed his teeth in the morning, but his mum didn't take to kindly to his wandering off carelessly into the woods and getting horribly lost. Not to mention soiling and tearing his new trousers. The youngest Watson was grounded for a week; that cruel sentence to the inquisitive boy was a catastrophe of biblical proportions. Unable to see his antler friend, even though he promised to be back soon, John was devastated. For a whole day after his journey into the wilds, he was moping in his own room with small intervals of annoying Harry, whining to his grandma, and walking aimlessly after his mother with the most heart-wrenching expression on his face he could provide. Mrs. Watson finally yielded with resignation, lifting her eyes heavenward. After only 24 hours of being house-ridden and adventure-deprived, she let her son go outside under one condition: John had to be home before dinner or the consequences would be unfathomable, beginning with an absolute ban on comic books. The eager seven-year-old would agree to anything just to leave home, so he swore solemnly that he wouldn't be late, even by a minute. When Mrs. Watson nodded her assent, John disappeared so quickly, she was almost certain he must have used a magic spell and teleported away. 

“Like father, like son!” She sighed fondly, remembering her husband with a pang of sadness in her heart. 

* * *

“Fawnlock! Fawnlock, where are you?” John kept shouting as he ran through the woods, trying to find the path he wandered the day before yesterday again. It proved to be more difficult than he anticipated, since he had no idea where he should go to meet his fawnish acquaintance. The more time he spent on fruitless search, the more dispirited John became. Maybe Fawnlock had thought that John would never come again and moved deeper into the forest? Or maybe something happened to him? Maybe poachers found him and kidnapped him to sell later to the circus? John's heart sank. No, that couldn't be true. He was being ridiculous with his worst case scenarios and promptly pushed them away. Fawnlock had to be fine, there was no other option, and John believed that firmly. “Fawnlock!”

His head whipped to the right when he heard a rustle of leaves coming from the lush shrub. The creeping creature apparently was trying hard to remain undetected, but its stealth skills were still somewhat lacking. Especially that its antlers were poking out between the twigs. 

“Fawnlock!” John cried out happily, as the fawn finally emerged from hiding and padded closer to him. At first Fawnlock seemed overjoyed and a little dazed, as if he didn't believe his senses. He smiled brightly, his blue eyes twinkling with relief and his furry ears twitching in excitement. But when the first wave of mirth ebbed from his face, the creature changed his attitude completely. His back turned ramrod straight, he folded his hands over his chest and huffed in indignation. John found in him a resemblance to a sulking prince of an oriental kingdom from the fairy tale book his grandma read to him. The similarity only enhanced when Fawnlock began a long rant in his strange melodic language accompanied by peeved scoffs, hisses, and animated gesticulation.

John didn't understand a word, but somehow the reason behind the whole flurry of displeasure was painfully obvious to him. The boy waived his hand to stop the harangue with the most penitent and humble tone he could muster. 

“I'm really sorry, Fawnlock, I am! I know I promised that I would come see you yesterday, but my mum got mad and locked me up at home. I was supposed to stay put for a whole week, but I managed to persuade her to let me go earlier. I'm sorry, I really wanted to see you again, I'm telling the truth!” he said, clenching his hands into fists, which he often did in times of emotional turmoil. He stared at his friend with wide, hopeful eyes. He wasn't sure how much Fawnlock understood from his speech – if anything at all – but he could tell the antler boy was still mad at him. Apparently, it required much more effort to placate the fawn. 

“Oh, come on. I'm sorry, okay? But I'm here now, we can play!” John said and extended his hand in a reconciliatory gesture. Fawnlock glanced at the offered hand in genuine confusion. He seemed intrigued, though, which at least caused his anger to subside. 

“Just shake my hand and everything will be fine. Adults do this to make up,” John explained in a scholarly tone. Well, adults also kissed sometimes, but that was gross. No need to give fawn ideas. 

Fawnlock's eyes kept shifting from the extended hand to John's face, and the creature's facial expression betrayed absolute bafflement. Still, the fawn didn't seem like the kind of person who gave up easily and behaved according to his best understanding of the situation – Fawnlock leaned his head and sniffed loudly at the boy's fingers.

John burst out laughing heartily. His forest companion was full of surprises. Not wanting to make the fawn think he was being mocked, John gently petted his curly hair, feeling as if he was stroking a dog who had just performed a remarkable trick. Not that he thought of Fawnlock as his pet, but he couldn't help the association with the fawn's thick locks under his fingers. The creature at first seemed unsettled by John's ministrations, but judging by the happy flapping of his ears, he grew to enjoy the caress and purred quietly, a lot like a happy cat. 

“Hey, I brought you something!” John said after a while when he felt his hand going numb. That instantly caught the fawn's attention and he scrunched his nose – John was nearly sure that this involuntary tick indicated the peak of his interest along with slight widening of his pupils. “Here!” The boy reached into his pocket and produced a handful of fudges. This time he had come prepared and had managed to nick several colourful cuboids from the kitchen's cupboard. Harry would be furious; he took her share – again. Seeing the awe on Fawnlock's face, though, John concluded that any fury he might meet later was absolutely worth it. 

The creature brightened up, and any traces of a sulk were eradicated definitely. The taste of the candies must have imprinted on his brain. No wonder; John was convinced that it was impossible to find anything in the forest even remotely as delicious as caramel. Fawnlock's behaviour seemed to confirm his assumption; the fawn made a sound strangely resembling a delighted squeal and leaped forward, snatching the loot out of John's hand. He hardly took his time to unwrap the fudges properly before stuffing them all into his mouth with remarkable speed, his jaws munching on them with elation. 

“Oi, you glutton! Don't be so selfish! It's for both of us!” John chided him, putting his hands on his hips just like his mother did when she was angry. Fawlock stared at him unblinkingly for a while, as if he was mulling deeply over something. Finally, he snorted, which was probably his ilk's equivalent of rolling one's eyes, and put two fingers into his mouth. After fondling there a bit and scratching at his sticky teeth and gums, he took a lump of already chewed over candy and, as if he was making a huge sacrifice, gave it to John. 

The boy took a step back, crinkled his nose, and made a disgusted sound. 

“You know what? Keep it. I'm not that hungry.”

Fawnlock squinted his eyes and huffed in resentment, clearly miffed that his good will wasn't properly appreciated. He shook his head, as if to say how stupid and problematic humans were, and once again put the saliva-soaked candy into his mouth, finishing the snack contently. Maybe humans were stupid, but at least they made scrumptious food. Fawnlock licked his lips, chirping exuberantly, and without asking John his opinion he grabbed the boy's wrist with his sticky hand and pulled him into a run among the dense, deciduous trees. John had trouble keeping up with the agile creature, and a few times he nearly tripped over a protruding root.

“Oi, slow down, will you?! Where are you taking me, anyway?” John inquired, his eyes fixed at the nape of the fawn's neck. He was getting tired, but the forest creature didn't even break a sweat. Or maybe he did; it was hard to tell with all that fur. 

“Jóhń!” The fawn exclaimed and added a few other words in his ancient language. John wasn't even sure where one word began and the other ended in the strange stream of consonants. 

“Sorry, I have no idea what you just said,” The boy admitted, shaking his head. 

Fawnlock stopped and turned around on his heel. His eyes moved across the human's face as if he wanted to assess whether or not John was telling the truth. When his suspicions were confirmed, the fawn stamped his foot in frustration. John had taught him a few English words, but the language barrier seemed to anger the antler boy to no end. Good thing he was stubborn and determined.

“Jeeeziooorooo...” he pronounced slowly a few times and made a few sweeping gestures, giving John a chance to understand. It was all in vain, since the boy remained clueless. Finally the fawn mumbled something incoherently – John could have sworn that he was being called an idiot; some words and tones were international – and with a sigh of resignation recommenced leading John deep into the forest, this time not running but walking briskly instead. The human boy was a little anxious because his mother would be very upset if he got lost again, but every doubt vanished from his head when they reached the clearing. John gasped in awe. 

“Oh. A lake!” He cried out with rapture.

“Ląkę,” Fawnlock agreed with a curt nod, scratching his neck and sniffing around to make sure it was safe. Judging by his lax pose, he didn't expect any danger here. John, however, paid him no mind.

The boy had never seen anything more breathtaking. The lake wasn't particularly big, but the water was crystal clear, and the sunshine was colouring the surface with golden patches of glimmering light. On the other bank, John saw a few ducks and swans resting in the shade together in a perfect harmony. The silent hum of crickets and monotonous buzzing of bees were reverberating in the gentle breeze, creating a soothing symphony of nature. The smell of flowers and fresh grass hung heavily in the air, so strong that it was nearly intoxicating, and John was glad that he didn't suffer from any allergy or he would have sneezed himself to death. That and he couldn't have properly enjoyed this picturesque spot that seemed too beautiful to be real, almost like an idyllic postcard. 

“Jóhń, cómę!” Fawnlock ordered, dragging his friend in the direction of the water. Despite his rather unimpressive size, the fawn was quite strong, and John had to dig his heels hard into the soil to stop him. 

“Wait! I can't go swimming in my clothes!” John protested. The fawn stared at him puzzled, not knowing what was the problem, but started tapping his foot impatiently. He stressed his displeasure at the delay with a loud grunt.

“It's only a moment, calm down!” John grumbled, taking the jumper his grandma made for him off over his head. Fawnlock fell silent, observing intently how John was exposing more and more of his pale skin, peeling off himself the layers of fabric and putting them on the ground. 

“Stop staring, that's rude!” John said when he reached the point of stark nakedness. The fawn wasn't deterred by the protest. He tilted his head and sized up John curiously, marvelling at how little fur the human had. He must get cold all the time; no wonder he wore this strange substitute for a decent coat. 

John didn't give Fawnlock too much time to scrutinize him, though. The boy laughed and shoved the fawn playfully on his shoulder before he ran towards the lake. John knew he wasn't a particularly good swimmer. Still, it's not like he'd want to dive headlong into the depths or anything; going up to his hips would be just perfect. John didn't predict one thing – the temperature. The boy only got his shins wet, but it was enough to make him squeak loudly like a terrified piglet. The water was icy cold, biting mercilessly at his skin. 

John turned around ready to return to the bank – not in a mood for Siberian bathing, thank you very much – when a brown and furry typhoon collided with him, sending them both back a few steps and then underwater. The boy yelped in panic as the dark, freezing abyss closed over him. He was terrified, but he knew he had to fight. His father, a soldier, always told him not to surrender to his fears, but to face them, to overcome the paralytic weakness and struggle with all his might. That advice had never failed him before, so John braced himself and calmed down. It took him only two seconds to emerge again, coughing and spitting, water now reaching nearly up to his neck. Right beside him stood Fawnlock, submerged nearly up to his nostrils, who seemed to regret his rash antic. He whined rather piteously, sending a few bubbles to the surface. Seeing this, John couldn't stay angry for long.

“Don't do it again, you jerk! You want to get us both killed?” He laughed, splashing some water over the soaked mess of the fawn's hair and fur before he took the smaller boy's hand and guided him to the shallows nearer the shore. With the glassy surface of the lake at his waist's level, Fawnlock felt again more secure and consequently started to smile and prance around, spraying the water mischievously on his companion. John repaid him in kind. They didn't know how long they played, but when the boy noticed that the fawn was shaking and his own skin had turned blue, he decided it was high time to leave the bath. John gestured to Fawnlock, urging him to return to the bank. The creature didn't protest much, only made a half-hearted bleat that was broken by the violent shiver. Fur or not, the chill was never pleasant.

It was nice for a change to feel the warm grass under one's feet. John hardly ever walked without shoes or socks, so it was a brand new and very pleasant experience. Fawnlock was used to it, so without making any fuss he just laid down on the meadow with his limbs splayed, humming cheerfully as he felt the sun gently kissing his fur. John hesitated, but quickly dismissed his doubts. He couldn't just put on his clothes when he was all wet, could he? Satisfied with his rationalization, John nestled down beside his friend. The warmth of the sun and the tiredness spreading throughout his muscles made him feel lazy. John sighed with content and closed his eyes.

He felt Fawnlock shifting closer. He wasn't scared of him, so he just waited to see what the fawn would do; he didn't have to wait long to find out. The fawn's long fingers began to stroke gently John's belly in a circular fashion only to move in a sweeping gesture from the navel up to his chest. It tickled, so John giggled, opening his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, barely containing his laughter. 

“Ńićę? Nićę, Jóhń?” The fawn made sure, his eyes big and curious.

“Yes. It does feel nice...” John replied a little confused. Was that another strange forest’s custom? Apparently so. Odd these nature folk. Then the boy's eyes widened as he remembered something. His grandma had a cat, a big and lofty ball of orange fur named Tiger. John was quite afraid of him, but his grandma often spent her evenings on the porch with the beast on her lap, rubbing his stomach. On the animal's part it was a sign of trust and affection; the one endowed with such an honour was considered special. Maybe among the fawns it worked in a similar way? “Oh. Thanks, Fawnlock. Do you want me to give you a belly rub as well?” He said, conveying the information by means of a little pantomime. 

“Yęś!” The fawn mewled excitedly, glad that John understood. He even looked a little relieved as he rolled on his back in a sign of submission and waited. John chuckled at that.

“Aren't you the needy one?” He teased good-naturedly as he let his hand scratch tenderly Fawnlock's soft abdomen. It was apparently very pleasurable, since the fawn sighed and nearly melted under John's touch. Actually, it was a nice feeling, and John would be lying if he said he didn't like it. He stopped only when his hand started to hurt, much to Fawnlock's chagrin. Still, when John returned to his horizontal pose, the fawn snuggled to him close in search of warmth, resting his dishevelled head that smelled like dew on John's chest. The boy absent-mindedly stroked his back, tugging curiously at the little tail until Fawnlock swatted him with it as if he was chasing away an annoying fly. John chuckled at that, draping his arm languidly over the fawn's waist. He didn't feel like doing anything at all. The sun was too warm, the sky too blue and the grass too comfortable to resist a little rest. John didn't even know when he dozed off.

He wasn't sure what woke him up. Was it the odd feeling of absence by his side? Or perhaps a colder gust of wind coming from the lake? Or maybe a desperate and fearful bleating that unmistakeably must have been Fawnlock's? John opened his eyes only to see his friend hopelessly trapped inside his jumper. Somehow he figured out how the sleeves worked and a pair of brown hands were sticking out of the cuffs, but dealing with the opening for the head was apparently too much. The fawn's antlers got stuck in the fabric, the wool entrapping Fawnlock's head. He squirmed with frustration, trying to break free, while he made a lot of irritated and scared yelps and huffs as well as a sob or two. 

John took pity on the unruly creature. 

“Oi, stop moving. I'll help you!” He said, crawling up to Fawnlock. When he put his hand on the fawn's back reassuringly, the forest boy calmed down a little, letting out only a long and resentful whine like an unhappy dog. “It's your own fault,” John reminded, but very carefully untangled the antlers and guided the fawn's head through the hole. When his friend's face appeared once again, he noticed that Fawnlock's eyes were red and the corners of his mouth turned down as if he wanted to burst out crying. In that moment he looked very vulnerable and very young.

“It's okay now, don't be scared,” John said softly, pulling his companion into a tight hug just like his mum always did when he was feeling bad. Obviously, that didn't happen often - John was seven years old, he was nearly an adult now. He tried not to snivel, even when he missed his dad. But he knew that everyone needed a bit of comfort sometimes. “Why did you even put that on?” He asked after a while, unable to fight off curiosity.

The fawn pulled back, wiped his face with a sleeve and then gave John a proud smile. 

“Jóhń! Fąwńlóćk, człowiek!” Fawnlock squealed, flapping his arms comically in an oversized jumper.

Finally it dawned on John.

“What? You want to be a human?” John asked incredulously. Why would anyone want to be a human; being a fawn and living in a forest seemed like so much better option! Still, John wanted to humour his shorter friend. “Alright. Do you want to wear my other clothes?” He asked, making a few gestures. 

“Yęś!” He nearly squealed with excitement, snatching John's pants from the ground.

“Oh no, we're not sharing underwear. Not gonna happen,” John promptly reclaimed his unmentionables and put them on his bum. Fawnlock didn't seem overly pleased, but only huffed in disdain, reaching for John's trousers. He needed a little help, but when he stood up, looking like the world happiest and furriest rack with too baggy clothes on it, John found his friend's smile infectious. It was all silly, but very fun. An idea flickered across his mind – what would happen if he dressed Sherlock up and took him home? Would his mum or gran notice that something was off? Yeah, probably they would. It would be hard to conceal Fawnlock's antlers or his fur. 

The fawn grabbed greedily his shoes, which pulled him out of his reverie. He stopped the creature, shaking his head. 

“No, you can't put these on. Your feet are too big, they won't fit!”

Fawnlock made a disappointed whine and smacked his lips like a petulant child he was. John knew by now that the forest boy was stubborn and he would surely try to put the shoes on nonetheless. He needed to be convinced.

“Look at my foot and at yours. See the difference?” John said, lifting his bent leg in the air. “Come on, put yours against mine.” Fawnlock was staring at him blankly, scrunching his nose, obviously clueless. John remained patient and in the end managed to explain with signs what he had in mind. Finally the feet ended up pressed against one another.

They both tilted their heads, scrutinizing carefully the other's anatomy. John could see that Sherlock's feet were different. Apart from the obvious fact that they were covered in fur and his soles were darker and harder, they were also broader and much longer, especially Fawnlock's thick toes. As if on cue, the forest boy wriggled them, which brought a smile to John's face.

“You're gonna be tall, you know. My mum once said that when you have big feet you'll grow that tall!” John said, making a sweeping gesture with his one hand, keeping the other on the ground not to lose his balance. “Guess I'll always stay a Hobbit then,” John rolled his eyes and Fawnlock laughed, even though he probably had no idea what John was talking about. “You know, Harry, my older sis, started to giggle when my mum mentioned big feet, but she can be so dumb sometimes. It's best to ignore her, really,” John didn't mind that Fawnlock didn't reply him. It was all fine. He believed that one day he'll teach him English and the language barrier would disappear. And then maybe one day the fawn would tell him about his own family. For now they had smiles and exchanged them freely. It was enough. 

John had had a lot of fun today, but he took a glance at his pride and joy – a waterproof watch he got from his dad. On his first day on a pass he didn't want to make his mum angry by breaking his promise. 

“I need go back home for dinner. Will you show me the way?” John asked, putting on his socks and shoes before he hauled himself back to his feet. 

Fawnlock bleated something in response and nodded eagerly. After all, he knew all the paths in the forest. John wished that one day he could learn them too. 

“Give me back my clothes first! It's getting cold and I can't go back only in my pants!”

Fawnlock had only one response to that.

“Ńó!” He stuck out his tongue and skedaddled into the thicket, flashing John a challenging smile

“Oi! Come back here you mangy imp!” John shouted and ran after him, pursuing him through the forest. It took a small chase, rolling around in leaves, and a tickling match to finally reclaim his property. 

And poor John still got a rocket at home for making holes in his jumper.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text.
> 
> It took me a while, but here it is - the next chapter and quite a long one too! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are really appreciated, they keep me going.

When the door flung open suddenly with a loud bang, and a gust of wind swept across the hall up to the kitchen, Martha Harper raised her gaze from the page she was reading. It could be only one person, since her daughter and granddaughter had gone to Edinburgh for the weekend. The woman slipped the bookmark inside and closed the crime novel she had been reading, putting it on a table beside a half-full cup of raspberry tea. She stood up from the armchair, adjusted her colourful shawl, and paced to the kitchen, aware of all the clanks, clinks, and lively bustle coming from there.

“John, what are you doing, sweetheart?” she inquired with fondness. She entered the room only to see her grandson standing on his tiptoes to reach for the strawberry jam on the highest shelf of the fridge. 

“Oh, hi, gran. Can you help me?” he asked, straining himself. He stuck out his tongue and turned all red from the effort, but he was still too short to perform the feat he was attempting.

“Of course, dear.” Martha picked up the small jar and placed it on the counter, a little surprised that John had actually paused his adventuring to come back home for a snack. She sized the boy up, straightening her glasses. Her eyesight maybe wasn't as good as it used to be, but she could clearly see that her grandson's hands and clothes were muddy with greenish patches caused by rolling on the grass. Nothing new – he always ended up filthy after playing in the forest, much to his mother's dismay. What was new, however, was the flower crown consisting of daisies and poppies, resting on the boy's temples. “Did you make it yourself, love?”

John stared at her with surprise, as if he didn't know what she was talking about. Only when he followed her gaze and looked up, seeing stems and petals, did everything become clear. He had completely forgotten what he was wearing. 

“No, my friend did. It was a gift...” John mumbled with embarrassment. After all, seven-year-old boys didn't walk around with flowers woven into their hair! That was stupid, but he couldn't really refuse Fawnlock. Not when the fawn looked at him with those big, hopeful eyes, very proud of himself. John had a feeling that his friend had spent the whole morning collecting plants, since they were undoubtedly freshly plucked. Still, a flower crown didn't befit a man. John brought his hand to his head, wanting to tear the garland away. His grandma stopped him mid-way, though.

“No, don't do it, John. It would be a shame to destroy it; it's lovely! Someone put a lot of effort into making this.”

“Yeah...” He admitted shyly, a little glad that his grandma didn't mock him. She was the best and always understood everything. “We're both a little peckish. Can you make us a sandwich?”

“Of course, dear,” she said gently, smiling as she smoothed an errand lock of hair from the boy's suntanned forehead. “Why don't you invite your friend in? You can eat here in peace and I'll warm you up milk and honey.”

John tensed momentarily. 

“Um... I don't think that's a good idea, gran. He's rather shy...” he admitted tentatively, averting his gaze. Showing Fawnlock to other people definitely wasn't a good idea. Even to his grandma. “He wouldn't want to come inside.” At least that was true. The fawn was curious about the house, but preferred to look at it from a distance, safely hidden behind a tree from where he could instantly bolt into the safety of the forest should the need arise. John could only imagine how strange his home and garden must look to the wood creature.

Martha Harper put her hands on her hips, sighing inwardly. She had feared something like this would happen. When her daughter moved here with her children a few months ago, Martha noticed that each and every one of her relatives had a different way of coping with grief. Lydia Watson spent more and more time at the hospital, working double shifts to keep herself occupied and not have time to think about everything that had happened. Harriet lost herself in fantasy books and her posse of rebellious girls at school. They had a bad influence on her, Martha was sure of it. And John... John kept running into the forest. He used to spend all his days alone there, from dawn until dusk, and even longer. His mother was at her wits end, but everyone hoped that this habit would be broken once John returned to school and actually met some friends in his new class. However, it wasn't so; John grudgingly sat through his lessons and then dashed home, gulped down his dinner, did his homework in a blink of an eye, and then off he ran into the woods. Perhaps it was time to do something about it. The youngest Watson needed help. 

“John, darling, come with me. I want to ask you something,” she requested. Seeing that the boy opened his mouth to voice his protest, she promptly added. “It will take only a minute, don't worry, love. You can go back to playing in no time and I'll prepare you a second breakfast myself,” she promised. 

The prospect of grandma's sandwiches made his tummy growl, and it convinced John to grant her wish. The sooner they took care of it, the sooner he and Fawnlock could eat. He nodded and followed her to the living room. Once she sat down in her armchair, the boy clambered up to her lap. He rarely did this anymore, since Harry teased him for being a baby, but when they were alone he liked to seek refuge in his grandma's warm arms. She always smelt like vanilla cookies and herbs, a scent he associates with cosiness and safety. 

“You spend a lot of time with your friend. Who is he, John? Is it the Anderson's boy?” She egged him on, trying to sound out her grandson to confirm or rebuff her worries.

“No!” John snorted with indignation. “Never, he's dumb as a brick!”

She had to bit the inside of her cheek not to start laughing. Actually she had a similar opinion about the whole Anderson family, but it wasn't the time or place to share it.

“All right. Is it Mike Stamford then? He's your age, isn't he?”

“Yeah. He's in my class. He's okay, I guess, but we're not hanging out together much,” John explained, swinging his legs over the armrest. 

“So who is it, dear?” She asked, involuntarily holding her breath. 

“Well... You don't know him...” The boy replied vaguely, shifting a bit and scratching his nose anxiously. Explaining Fawnlock to other people surely wouldn't be an advisable thing to do. Even the best ones sometimes proved to be very disbelieving. “He's not from the village.” 

Martha didn't respond immediately. She was afraid that it would come to this. She had been questioning her neighbours discreetly whether their children played in the woods or not. They didn't; most people, especially natives, preferred to stay away from the eerie and timeless forest and its treacherous paths. Poor, lost and lonely boy, a victim of his own imagination...

“You miss him, don't you?” She said softly, stroking John's hair in a calming manner. 

John pulled a long face. He didn't need to ask who his grandma had in mind. 

“Yeah... Sometimes.”

It was difficult for her as well, but she pushed through. 

“He was a great man and a wonderful father. He loved you a lot.”

John nodded slowly. He knew. 

“My dad was a hero!” the boy said with conviction, rubbing the corner of his eye pre-emptively in case of very much unwelcome tears. 

“Yes, he was,” she agreed soothingly. “He protected innocent people from bad men. Do you still want to be a soldier like him?” 

This time John shook his head pensively. He had pondered about it before and made his decision. 

“No. I want to be a doctor and save lives. Maybe if a doctor was nearby when dad got shot, he wouldn't have had to die.”

The woman felt her heart clench painfully in her chest.

“Oh, John...” She whispered helplessly, pulling her grandson into a tight, consoling hug. John closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander to the day of the funeral. The coffin was shipped from Afghanistan, wrapped elegantly with a Union Jack. Everyone had been so respectful and supportive, and his mum acted with solemn dignity, even though John knew she was on the verge of breaking down. She appeared to be composed and held her head high, but when the coffin was lowered to the ground, tears streamed down her face, shattering the dam of self-control. Harry was snivelling all the time, her face red and puffy. John knew he had to be strong for both of them. It was hard, though, when his eyes stung so much and he felt so empty and so alone. Later that evening, when all the sympathetic friends and family went away, they ended up hugging and crying together over their loss and the hollow abyss that had been torn in their souls. Everything changed since then.

“Sweetie, I understand how much he meant to you and how much you miss him. I really do. He left a hole in your heart and you wanted to fill that void. Imagining a friend might have helped you to get through this, but you have to stop, John. You can't be trapped inside your own fantasy with an invented companion, you need real friends,” she said with concern.

John lifted his head and looked at her in bewilderment. 

“What? No, gran! I didn't invent anyone!” he protested fiercely. “Fawnlock is real!”

“Fawnlock?” she echoed curiously. 

“Well, it's not his real name, I guess, but I called him that and he seems to like it,” John explained, knowing how weird it must sound. He sighed. Since his grandma probably thought already that he was going crazy, he might as well tell her everything. “I didn't imagine him, honestly. He lives in the forest and doesn't really speak much English. I'm working on it, though. He looks like a human, more or less, but has brown fur, a tail and small antlers. He can get quite stroppy sometimes, but he's nice. We're friends. Believe me, I'm not making this up!”

Martha fell silent, eyeing John warily. Had he heard the legends? No, how could he? No one talked about it anymore. Suddenly, she wasn't so convinced anymore that this mysterious friend was just a figment of John's imagination. A seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. She took a big gasp of air and started to speak carefully, her hand resting on the boy's shoulder.

“When I was a little girl, my great-grandmother used to tell me and my sisters stories and long-forgotten legends. One of them was about the guardians of the forest, which were called Cienie. It was a tribe of half-humans, half-animals that lived deep into the woods, protecting it from any danger. They kept to themselves, avoiding humans, but if a stranger hurt one of their kind, they turned vengeful and cruel, chomping down the culprit to the very last bone. Normally, though, they were rather good-natured, occasionally maybe a little impish, using magic to keep peace in the forest or play pranks on the lost travellers. Of course, no one ever saw them, so they remain just a fable, like the Loch Ness monster...”

John listened to her intently, his face creased in concentration. He didn't believe in the part about violence one bit – surely Fawnlock wouldn't hurt anyone! - but when he heard about magic, his eyes lit up.

“So you think he is one of the guardians? He can cast spells?” John inquired with excitement, not at all deterred from his friendship with Fawnlock. 

“I don't know, darling,” she admitted, unsure what to think about all of this. She had an open mind and believed that rationality couldn't explain everything that was out there in the world. For that reason, she feared and distrusted the unknown. “If you truly befriended a forest creature, though, he might belong to the magical folk. Be careful, love.” There was no point in forbidding him to go; he'd have done it either way. John was the most stubborn child she'd ever met. Martha still wasn't entirely convinced about Fawnlock's existence. But maybe in every legend there was a grain of truth. Maybe some lost semi-human tribe really lived there? She had to do some serious thinking and maybe visit as well a few people who might have known more about stuff of legends. Well, that and a child's psychiatrist. She needed to make sure that her grandson was safe one way or another. Whether he truly met a fabled creature or he went through a nervous breakdown didn't matter much. His well-being was all that counted. 

“I will, gran, but I'm sure he won't hurt me,” John responded with a beaming smile. “I bet he's getting really bored right now, though. Will you make us those sandwiches?”

A tiny smile curled in the corner of her lips. So typical of children - more concerned about their growling stomach than the inexplicable. 

“Of course, love. Come.” She patted the boy's thigh, urging him to stand up. John sprinted to the kitchen like a cheetah's cub, bursting with energy as always. He could barely sit tight while she cut the bread and spread the jam thickly on the slices. Before she let the boy run away again, she gave him two bananas. A vitamin bomb couldn't hurt. 

Martha watched her grandson rush across the garden and disappear in the woods. She pinched the bridge of her nose and readjusted her glasses. Troubles were near, she was sure of it.

* * *

When John approached the spot where he left Fawnlock, the younger boy was crouching behind a tree and rocking to and fro in extreme boredom, his messy mop of hair appearing and disappearing behind the bark. Hearing the rustle of bushes nearby – John hadn't mastered his prowling skills yet, though he believed he was making progress – Fawnlock lifted his head and glared at him with resentment. 

“Bóręd!” He announced loudly. Funnily enough, the fawn instantly got the meaning behind that word and used it frequently; more frequently than John would like. What followed was a cluster of sentences in the forest dialect, far beyond John's understanding.

“Oh stop it, I was gone for fifteen minutes not a month,” John pointed out, sitting on the ground in front of his friend. “I have the food!” Wanting to win Fawnlock over again, he gave the boy one of the sandwiches with jam. Fawnlock knew by now that humans weren't the brightest creatures out there, but certainly they made delicious food. He grabbed the meal eagerly and began munching on it, making a lot of happy noises. His ears twitched with every bite, showing his contentment.

“I knew you'd like that,” John said smugly, digging into his own portion. Once the bread turned into a sweet strawberry memory, there came the time for the fruit. 

“Here! I bet you haven't eaten anything like this before.” The boy presented the banana to his companion. Fawnlock was both curious and confused. He leaned forward and sniffed at the strange yellow crescent. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed it, felt in his hand for a while as if assessing its weight, and tried to put one end inside his mouth.

“No, wait!” John stopped him just in time. “You have to peel it first. Just like that, look,” John demonstrated slowly how to peel off the banana and bit on the soft part inside. Fawnlock was an apt student, so after observing his friend keenly, he repeated the action, not without some difficulty. Still, it was definitely worth it – the pale yellowish thing was really delicious! 

John chuckled, seeing the enthusiasm on Fawnlock's face. That laugh soon died in his throat when he noticed with bafflement that, once the fawn had finished with the banana, he ate the peel as well, apparently liking the taste even better. Fawnlock then gestured questioningly to the stunned John, wanting to know if the human would eat his peel or not. 

“You're like a rubbish bin, you know that?” John smirked, shaking his head a little, but in the end yielded. The leftovers disappeared in the always-greedy mouth of the fawn. The boy only hoped that Fawnlock wouldn't be sick. Well, probably he had eaten worse things in his life, and when you live in a forest you can't be very picky.

After the meal, when their stomach's were full, they both felt too lazy to move. They decided to rest a bit before adventuring. As they sat with their backs to a large oak tree, John thought about the stuff that his grandma had told him. 

“Hey, Fawnlock,” he prodded lightly the fawn's shoulder to get his attention, since the antler boy seemed preoccupied with a white butterfly perching on a tip of a rose bush. “Can you do magic?”

“Mągić?” he repeated and looked at John, knitting his eyebrows together. 

“Yeah. Spells and such,” John said, making whishing noises and throwing his arm in front of his face, muttering 'expelliarmus'. At least that was what wizards did in the movies that he watched on the telly. 

“Ó! Magia?” Fawnlock finally understood and nodded eagerly. Of course he could do that!

“Really? That's so cool! Show me!” John insisted, nearly exploding from excitement. 

Fawnlock gave him a smug and lofty smile, as if John was an audience and he a renowned prestidigitator. He grabbed a stone from the ground and crawled closer to John, setting the pebble between them. 

John stared in awe at how Fawnlock wriggled his fingers and then leaned down a bit, concentrating on the task. He hummed something, his eyes transfixed on the stone. John held his breath, preparing for whatever might come.

Nothing did. Fawnlock huffed and creased his forehead, straining his body, but to no avail. The stone didn't move even a bit. That was wrong. The fawn clearly wanted to impress his human friend, but all his efforts seemed in vain. That couldn't be! No one could ever say, though, that the fawn wasn't full of brilliant ideas. When he thought that John was distracted enough, he discreetly slipped his pinkie under the rock and made it roll over. He looked up at John triumphantly.

Obviously, John had seen it perfectly. The oldest trick in the book. More amused than scandalised, he burst out laughing heartily. 

“You're a big fat cheat,” he managed to say between the spasms of laughter that rocked his body. There was no such thing as magic, he should have known. The fawn didn't seem fazed in the least, grinning proudly in happiness. To make him even more ecstatic, John rewarded the performance with a round of applause. Fawnlock turned into a radiating ball of sunshine.

“All right, oh great magician, what now?” John asked, scratching the spot behind the younger boy's ear fondly. Fawnlock liked it almost as much as belly rubs. “Where can we go now?”

The fawn pondered about it, tapping his chin with a long digit, leaning into John's touch. 

“Ęąt! Góód!” he stated perkily, hauling himself to his feet. Apparently, it was his turn to provide a snack for them. John wasn't particularly hungry, but he was curious what Fawnlock could show him. Despite roaming the forest for a few months now, he knew he wasn't familiar with even a fraction of the secrets that could be found there. So the boy agreed without any objections as the fawn grabbed his hand and led him into the part of the woods he hadn't seen yet. They trotted at a comfortable pace for John, though he suspected that Fawnlock, with his wiry and strong body, could probably run a lot faster. Still, the boy was glad for the consideration. During the journey he lost his flower crown somewhere. It must have somehow got tangled in the branches. John would never say it aloud, but he kind of missed it. 

After a couple of minutes on the untrodden path, they approached a small hollow. Fawnlock froze in place, though, not expecting the sight that they found there.

On the bottom of the hollow grew numerous wild strawberry bushes. Most of them were trampled over and completely destroyed. The muddy ground bore signs of heavy boots and sneakers belonging to a group of people. John could see the ragged remnants of a tent and a few metal pegs still punched deep into the ground. A little to the right was a fireplace, still smouldering a bit. Someone had been camping here without much regard for Mother Nature.

Fawnlock was positively horrified. He bleated quizzically at the damage done and looked at John as if wanting an explanation as to who could have done it, and how. The boy had none. Gingerly, they walked down a slope to inspect closely what had happened. As they came closer, John noticed heaps of trash scattered all around: empty bottles of beer or vodka, cigarette butts, long deflated balloons filled with something white, and a few empty syringes. Weird. He could understand alcohol and balloons because someone might have throw a party, but syringes? Who would have wanted to get a vaccine in the middle of the forest?

A long, piercing scream of agony pulled him out of his reverie. He watched stupefied as Fawnlock fell down on his bum, crying in pain. In a heartbeat John was beside him, wanting to know what was wrong. 

No words of explanation were needed. John gasped, covering his mouth with his hand as he saw the big shard of glass from the broken bottle sticking out of the sole of Fawnlock's foot. 

“Oh my God!” John exclaimed, feeling a big block of ice settling in his stomach. Panic was spreading throughout his body, almost knocking the wind out of him. The fawn's pained wails and the blood gushing from the wound were enough to make his face turn white as a sheet. That was way beyond him. John's first reaction was to look for an adult. Obviously, no adults were available at the moment. They were never around when they were needed. John had to deal with this on his own and he had to do it quickly because his friend was suffering and could bleed to death. 

John was shaking like a leaf when he took off his jumper and put it under Fawnlock's injured leg. His mother would probably get mad for ruining yet another piece of clothing, but he had bigger worries right now.

“Sh, it's okay. Everything will be all right, I promise.” Despite being on the verge of freaking out, he managed to say it in a soothing voice, stroking the fawn's forearm. He had heard his mum speak to patients at the hospital that way, and it usually worked wonders. He had to calm the antler-boy down or he would end up injuring himself further. At least Fawnlock turned his tearful eyes to him, pleading and mewling for help. John felt the pressure weighting on his shoulders, but he stayed strong. For Fawnlock. “I'm gonna take that out, okay? Please, hold still. Will you do that?” 

The fawn sniffled, his cheeks wet from tears that didn't stop flowing. He was terrified, but when his fear clashed with John's steadfastness, he nodded weakly. At least he understood. Maybe not the phrase itself, but the intent behind it. Good. That was promising.

“Ókąy...” He hiccupped, swallowing more tears. 

“You're really strong, Fawnlock. Really. You're taking everything like a man, I'm so proud of you. If I were in your shoes I would have cried like a baby for a week. Well, you don't have shoes, but you see my point.” John chuckled apprehensively, licking his lips. He had a tendency to babble when he was feeling unsure. And right now he was feeling very much unsure. At least while talking he could keep Fawnlock focused on his words and not on his wound. John also could give himself some courage by trying not to think too much about what he was about to do. He had no idea; he needed to improvise. And was it just his imagination and overwhelming nervousness or had the air started to get more nippy? 

John took a shaky breath and carefully grabbed the shard, trying not to cut himself in the process. That would only worsen their current predicament. John didn't know if he should pull it out slowly or do it in one go, so he decided to let this be over with as soon as he could. 

“On a count of three, all right?” He asked. When he got woeful permission, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his other hand, steadying himself. “Okay. One... two...” He didn't wait for a 'three'. With a swift movement of his hand, John pulled out the shard, nearly losing his balance from the momentum.

Fawnlock's cry was heart-wrenching and sounded throughout the forest, scaring the birds away. The wind seemed to intensify and the tree branches above them creaked ominously. John didn't pay attention to any of that. He knelt beside the fawn, looking at the wound. It seemed bad. Probably stitches and some proper cleaning would be needed. There was only one thing John could do. He wrapped his blood-soaked jumper around Fawnlock's foot, tying it up in a makeshift dressing. He hoped it would last at least for a while. Now for the harder part of his plan.

John turned around to the fawn and patted his own back encouragingly.

“Hop on. I'm gonna take you home. My grandma will take care of your injury.”

Fawnlock didn't seem convinced. Blinded by pain and scared out of his mind, he wailed piteously, his sobs intertwined with slurred, incoherent words. 

“Trust me,” John nearly begged. It was getting dark already, even thought it wasn't very late yet. Perhaps the storm was coming. “Fawnlock... Please.”

The antler-boy stared at him for a moment, his gaze hesitant and maybe a little leery. This didn't last long, though. He made his decision and ungainly clambered up John's back, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck. John held him under his knees, careful not to hurt his bleeding foot. Fawnlock was heavier than he looked, but John didn't have any other choice. He gritted his teeth and started to climb up the slope leading out of the hollow. 

The effort made him breathless, but he didn't have time to rest. It was getting darker and darker and more scary as if the forest had a mind of its own and was getting angry. Never before had John felt this sense of dread that made his skin crawl. Every shadow seemed to harbour unspeakable horrors. He wanted to get out of the forest as quickly as possible. Fawnlock's crying only strengthened that resolve.

John trudged across the forest floor, treading carefully not to trip over a rock or thick roots that somehow seemed to multiply. Despite his caution, he tried not to dawdle, feeling as if millions of eyes were watching him. The sky was overcast by heavy clouds and the owls’ loud hooting rang from the high branches. Not only his own paranoia was rushing him to go on; Fawnlock buried his face into John's neck, the poor creature's tears and snots trickling down under John's shirt. The boy kept soothing him and even hummed a calming lullaby under his breath only to make his friend feel a little better.

“It's not far. Please, Fawnlock, just a little more. You're amazing,” John said, forcing his way through a thicket that lashed on his skin mercilessly, leaving lots of painful cuts. John felt like an intruder. He didn't slow down, even though he had never been more tired in his entire life. Only when he slid on a patch of mud and landed on his knees, did he finally let out a scared sob. No, he couldn't just give up; Fawnlock's safety depended on it! John gathered the remnants of his strength and pushed through until he left the sinister forest behind. 

By the time he reached his home, his muscles were twitching and every step he took was as incredible a feat as flying. Before the adrenaline burned out and he nearly collapsed on the porch, remaining on two legs only because he leaned on the door frame, John managed to knock on the door using his leg while adjusting his friend.

Soon enough it opened and his grandma appeared in the doorway. She was about to say something when the words died on her lips. She saw her grandson – more dirty, tousled and exhausted than ever – carrying someone on his back. That someone turned out to be a furry boy with antlers no older than five years old, who stared at her with pain contorting his features and big blue eyes filled with tears. John's jumper was wrapped around his foot, now red all over from blood. 

She gasped loudly, pressing her hand over her chest. John hadn't lied after all.

“Oh dear...”

“No, he's not a deer, gran. He's a fawn. Fawnlock. And he needs help!” John urged her impatiently.

She had no other choice but to agree. They would talk about this later; she couldn't let down someone obviously requiring medical attention, especially a child, no matter what race or species he was. Even though she retired some time ago, her nurse instincts kicked in immediately. Still, she was glad that her daughter wouldn't see this – she would probably have a heart attack for real, seeing the fawn. 

“Put him on the couch and fetch me some clean towels and a bowl of warm water. I'll get the first aid kit,” she ordered. John obeyed without question, trusting that she knew what to do. It was much simpler to follow orders than to assume responsibility himself. The boy laid Fawnlock down carefully, putting a pillow under his head. 

“I'll be right back,” he whispered, running his hand though the fawn's damp locks, who only whined in response, stunned by pain and blood loss, not really registering what was happening around him. 

John kept his promise and returned in a flash, a bowl of water in his hands and two towels wrapped around his neck like scarves. With a task to do he nearly forgot how tired he was. When he entered the living room, his grandma was already sitting beside Fawnlock, unwrapping the makeshift dressing.

“Thank you, dear. Put it on the floor and give me the towels,” she said, her eyes riveted on the wound and assessing the damage. “Keep him in place, will you?”

John did as he was told and climbed on the couch beside Fawnlock, one hand wrapped around the fawn's thin frame, the other squeezing his hand hard. 

“You'll be fine. I'm here, don't be scared,” he said and the fawn sniffled loudly in response, pressing his wet nose to John's neck. “There, there. I know it hurts, but it'll get better very soon.”

“How did this happen?” She asked, cleaning the wound gently with water. She had no idea how the immunological system of fawns worked, but she didn't want to risk an inflection. Besides, the cut was nasty.

“He stepped on a glass when we were in the forest. He bled badly, so I decided to bring him home. I didn't really know what to do.”

“You did well, John. I'm proud of you,” she said honestly, and John beamed at the recognition. She switched now to hydrogen peroxide, which she poured generously over the wound and dabbed at with a cotton wad. Fawnlock bleated in pain, but John's careful ministrations coaxed him to calm down and only whimper quietly. “I owe you an apology, sweetheart. I must admit I wasn't entirely convinced that you were telling the truth. Right now, I'm a true believer. I'm sorry for doubting you, I know you're an honest boy.”

“It's okay, gran. I probably wouldn't have believed myself if someone had told me they befriended a creature from the forest,” he gave her a weak smile. She chuckled and took a needle and a suture. She told John to keep Fawnlock really steady and she began sewing the wound with utmost care and absolute concentration on the task. The fawn cried out when the needle pierced his skin, but John was there for him, assuring him that everything would be all right, that he was safe now and soon it'd be over. 

“John, love, I think it'll be better if your friend remained our secret. Don't tell anyone else about him, especially your mother or sister,” she warned him seriously, finishing the stitches. When John didn't understand the reason behind this secrecy, she went on. “As I said before, I've been living here all my life, and when you roam the countryside for so many years, you learn not to dismiss mythical powers so lightly. But your mum and sister are the children of the city, only believing in what is rational and explicable to their rational mind. They wouldn't understand.”

John had to agree with her silently. He doubted either his mum or Harry would be particularly happy about Fawnlock. Mum would probably forbid them to play together and the whole family would move back to London or somewhere else. He didn't want that. The antler-boy, whom he was currently pretty much cradling in his arms, had become a dear friend, the best he ever had. He observed silently how his grandma wrapped a clean bandage around Fawnlock's foot just to be sure. 

“Will he be okay?” he asked with worry in his voice. 

“He will, John. He's weak now and shouldn't walk for some time, but the wound will heal sooner than you think.” She smiled, seeing the look of relief on her grandson's face. “Now let's allow him to rest a while. Bring him a blanket and I'll fix you a nice warm cup of cocoa. You both deserve it.”

John flashed her a grin and made a move as if he was about to stand up. He was held in place by Fawnlock's long fingers coiling around his wrist with such force that it surely left bruises.

“Ńó, Jóhń! Ńó gó! Ńó gó!” He pleaded quietly, staring at John with his eyes blown in fear. John cast a quick glance at his grandma and snuggled closer to him.

“All right. I won't go. Hush,” he said, placing a kiss at the fawn's temple to calm him down. His mother did is sometimes and it worked miracles. For maximum efficiency, John also rubbed the fawn's belly gently, and Fawnlock quickly melted in his arms.

A smile tugged at the corner of Martha's lips as she went to fetch the blanket herself. After tucking the boys in and fairly pecking them both on a cheek, she disappeared into the kitchen. As she was warming the milk, she looked out the window towards the forest in the distance. It looked like a dark unstoppable force of nature, angry and threatening as never before. The trees seemed hostile with branches like twisted cutlasses and the wind howling its wild song in the long forgotten language. Her heart was pounding fast in her chest when she returned to the living room with two cups. She masked her true feelings with a smile, not wanting to frighten John just yet. 

“Here you are, drink up.” She gave them the drinks. At first Fawnlock was rather sceptical, but, seeing that John not only sipped the brown liquid eagerly but seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, the fawn ventured a small gulp. Martha had never heard such a squeal of delight. Taking the opportunity as the creature was clicking his tongue and licking his lips, she turned to John, who, all things considered, reacted far more moderately to the cup of cocoa. 

“John, you have to bring him back into the woods,” she whispered, glancing tentatively at Fawnlock as if the boy was a time bomb ready to go off any second now. 

“What? Now?” He looked out the window. It was dark already, and the strong gale outside was a harbinger of the oncoming tempest. John definitely didn't feel like going outside. 

“I'm afraid so, yes.”

“Can't we at least wait till morning? Mum and Harry are coming back on Monday, anyway, so they won't see him. He can crash in my room and we could---”

“No, John,” she cut him off seriously. “This is not natural weather. The forest is restless. They must have smelled the blood.”

“They?” He didn't like the sound of his grandma's words.

“Your friend doesn't live alone, apparently. He has a family and friends. And I imagine they are not as benevolent and harmless spirits as he is.” To prove her point, she pointed at the fawn, who was licking the mug clean like an oversized puppy. “You have to take him back to appease them or we'll all be in danger. We don't know what they can do if Fawnlock goes missing for much longer...”

John looked at her with uncertainty. He knew Fawnlock would never harm anyone, but others? He never imagined that Fawnlock's kin might be dangerous. He never really thought about them much, being always busy with more interesting stuff. The state of the forest and the rising fury of the weather seemed to confirm his grandma's predictions, though. John felt very, very uncomfortable.

“Will you come with me then? You can help me carry him...” he said hopefully.

“Oh, sweetheart, I can't,” she sighed, putting her hand on John's shoulder. “It will only make everything worse, trust me. If there's a person who can make this right, it's you, John.”

John was afraid; he would have to lie if he claimed that prospect of going there into the wilderness didn't scare him. But well... It was probably the right thing to do. His dad wouldn't hesitate even for a moment; he was a true hero. And John wanted to be like him in this regard.

“Okay, I'll do it,” he said, nervously licking his lips over and over again. 

“I knew you would. You're very brave, John,” she said, giving him a brief hug. The boy showed his teeth in a parody of a smile and turned to Fawnlock, who was oblivious to the topic of conversation.

“Hey, Fawnlock, I'm taking you back to the forest, since you can't walk. Just don't get used to it, you're heavier than you look,” John tried to joke to make himself feel a little better as he tore the blanket of them and sat up. Fawnlock scrunched his nose in displeasure, but when John patted his own back, he knew what to do. The pain in his foot must have lessened because he didn't cry any longer. Instead, he looked around curiously, marvelling at all the weird stuff he didn't have in the forest. 

John stood up with a muffled groaned, made sure that Fawnlock was comfortably seated, and then nodded to his grandma. The boy walked to the door with determination. The fawn turned his head around and waved to John's grandma, bleating something that probably was some sort of a fawnish equivalent of 'thank you'.

The moment John stepped outside, a gust of wind hit him right in the face. The leaves were piercing the air and the world was screaming at him using thousands of animal voices. John felt his knees shaking. 

“So... Someone out there is mad, right?” He muttered to himself as he tentatively began his march towards the edge of the forest. Good thing though that the moonlight was shining between the clouds from time to time, lighting up the way in the growing darkness. 

John didn't know where he should leave Fawnlock, so he decided to walk a bit further and drop him off at the first clearing. That is, if he could find the way. He had to move extremely slowly, not wanting to fall or get lost completely. The hair on his neck was bristling from fear, his breath was shallow and rapid, and he was sweating like a pig. He really, _really_ , wanted to go back home and escape from all these scares. 

Finally, he stepped into the clearing. All the noises died out like a blown candle. The grass was empty, cold, and silent, like a predator trying to hide from its prey. A real calm before the storm. John carefully put Fawnlock on the ground and crouched beside him, squeezing his shoulder.

“All right. So I guess, I'm gonna leave you here, huh? You'll be fine?” John's voice was squeakier than he would ever care to admit. Despite not wanting to be here, he had to make sure that the fawn would be okay. Fawnlock nodded and mewled something quietly without any indication that he didn't feel okay. Well, at least as okay as he could be with stitches in his foot. 

A sudden rustling accompanied by a loud growl cut through the silence of the clearing. John's head whipped in the direction of the noise. When he saw what came from behind the trees, he fell back on his bottom, his hands grasping frantically at the cold blades of grass. His mouth opened in terror as if he was about to scream but the voice had failed him. If he had wet himself in that moment, no one would blame him.

It was a monster. A monster straight from the worst nightmares that plagued those with a wicked heart. It was nearly as big as a tree and black as coal made out of condensed darkness - the aura of pure hatred that formed itself into a two-legged shape with willowy hands that ended with crooked claws. The monster's eyes were glowing with a sickeningly yellowish hue and its mouth hid an uneven row of fangs that dropped strings of saliva as the beast roared deafeningly. It had fixed its gaze on John and walked towards him, wanting to kill, to crush bones and tear limb from limb. Step by step his doom approached, the claws and teeth glistening deadly in the moonlight. 

John was paralysed with fear. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move. He was helpless.

“Stój!” Fawnlock squeaked, waving his arms towards the monster. He added something else quickly, to which the beast responded with a furious, rumbling screech with tones that barely resembled speech. Fawnlock didn't give up. He spoke at such a speed that he almost didn't pause for breath. He talked and talked, gesticulating to John, to himself, to his bandaged leg. He was explaining something passionately, and the more he spoke, the more the monster kept changing. It was growing smaller and smaller, its shape distorting and the hatred ebbing away. 

In the clearing, just a few metres from John and Fawnlock, instead of a beast stood another fawn. Or doe, rather. Tall, lean, beautiful, and majestic, with her eyes blue and calm like two frozen lakes. John didn't even flinch as she came closer, picked Fawnlock up effortlessly, and examined him, making sure that he was okay. She touched the bandage, sniffed at it, and then moved up and nuzzled their faces together in relief and happiness, cooing softly. The fawn whined quietly in protest, as if in embarrassment, but secretly really loving the warm embrace.

The doe watched John pensively for a long moment before she bowed her head and bent her legs in respectful curtsey.

“Źle cię oceniłam, człowieku,” she said in a voice warm and bright like kisses of the sun. “Jesteś od dziś przyjacielem leśnego ludu.”

John blinked at her. He didn't understand a word. Was this a dream? He stood up slowly despite his wobbly knees, and reciprocated the curtsey, far too nervous and confused to do it right. The doe smiled at him and the woods seemed to smile with her. Once again it was the placid forest he loved so much. The woman waved her hand and immediately a few fireflies flew and rested on her fingertips. She blew at them and the insects buzzed away to the right, lighting the way better than any lamp could do.

“Idź,” she said, pointing at the fireflies. John understood; they were supposed to guide him amidst the darkness. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, his throat parched. 

The doe clicked her tongue, and turned away. Before they disappeared between the trees, Fawnlock bid him farewell.

“Byę, Jóhń!”

“Bye, Fawnlock...” 

John followed the fireflies, walking home in a daze. He didn't know if he had walked five minutes or five hours, but in the end he found himself on his porch again. His grandma was waiting at the door and hugged him close to her chest the moment she saw him.

“You did it, John. You are the most courageous person I know,” she said, trying to calm the boy down. He was still pretty shaken up, and was reluctant to tell her what exactly had happened. 

“Gran... Will you stay with me until I fall asleep tonight?” he asked timidly, not wanting to be left all alone.

“Of course, dear,” she kissed him on the forehead with a smack. “Wash yourself, brush your teeth, don your pyjamas. I'll be right there.”

She watched her grandson stagger towards the bathroom, pretending not to see the wet stain on his trousers. 

For the next week Fawnlock was nowhere to be found, no matter how hard John looked for him. However, every morning, right before the front door of his house, he found fresh berries, nuts, and mushrooms, along with a few strands of brown fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For people who are curious:
> 
> Źle cię oceniłam, człowieku. - I have misjudged you, human.  
> Jesteś od dziś przyjacielem leśnego ludu. - From now on, you are considered a friend of the forest folk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text.

It was hard to believe that September was already nearing its end. The weather certainly didn't indicate that, being as far from the gloomy and damp aura of autumn as was possible. The sun shone brightly on the lush verdure in the garden and on the tall trees swooshing mystically in the ancient forest nearby. No cloud spoiled the view of this perfect day, which was accompanied idyllically by the gleeful chirping of birds and steady buzz of all-pervasive insects. 

As Martha Harper stood on her tiptoes, stretched her arm to pick another apple from the tree, and threw the fruit into the wicker basket, a suspicious rustling could be heard coming from behind the low hedge. She had the nagging feeling that she had been under scrutiny for quite some time. Not that she felt particularly alarmed about that. Muffled giggles and distorted snatches of speech exchanged in theatrical whispers were hardly threatening.

The woman looked over her shoulder, catching a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, followed by another fit of not-so-clandestine playful giggles. Even without the noises, she wouldn't have had problems with localizing the two urchins. A tuft of blond hair and a small pair of antlers were sticking out above the trimmed branches of the hedge. John's friendship with the forest creature flourished freely and they had become virtually inseparable. They had to take a week pause from meeting recently, though, since the fawn had to get better after his foot got injured on the glass and John had to deal with whatever he'd seen in the forest that fateful night, which caused him to have horrible nightmares. The pain and the fear seemed to be all but forgotten now and the boys were best mates once again. Martha was still a little wary of this interspecies rapport, but she decided not to intervene as long as John was safe and happy. God knew that boy needed some joy in his life after his father's death.

Their home was far away from the rest of the village and hidden from prying eyes not only by the distance but also by a small grove and since Harry was at her friend's place and Sarah Watson was at work – they both weren't likely to come home until evening – Martha decided that there was no reason to chase the fawnish boy away. Perhaps the absence of John's mother and sister was the reason why the boy decided to bring his furry friend along on an adventure so close to human settlement.

“Hey, you two, don't skulk in the shadows. Come here. You'll get a treat,” she said encouragingly, turning to the apple tree once again so as not to intimidate them. She heard a quiet murmur of a heated debate and a whine full of hesitance followed promptly by a confident assurance. The duo seemed to reach some kind of agreement and a few moments later the boys emerged from behind the hedge, which only reached to John's waist, so he and the fawn had no problems climbing over it and getting into the garden.

“Hi, gran!” John greeted her with a beaming smile. 

“Hi, grąń!” Fawnlock echoed shyly, standing behind John and bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, which thankfully were all healed now. The creature behaved in a timid and careful way around humans other than John, even if Martha had saved him before. She didn't blame him, really. Most humans were hardly trustworthy folk. Better safe than sorry.

“Hello, boys. What were you up to?” she asked warmly, dividing her attention fairly between the two of them. She wondered if the fawn realised that 'gran' wasn't her name, but rather a function she performed in John's life.

“We've been watching you all this time, you know! Gathering intel!” John boasted excitedly. “We were playing spies!”

“Spies? Oh my. Sounds serious. And exhausting. You must be hungry now. Take some,” she encouraged them, extending the basket full of apples towards the children. They exchanged a brief glance and nodded in unison. There was no way the furry glutton would pass on an opportunity to get something to eat and John knew that perfectly well by now. Besides, he felt a little peckish himself. 

“Thanks, gran!” John exclaimed, grabbing the first fruit that rolled under his fingers.

“Thąńkś, grąń!” Sherlock repeated eagerly, clapping his hands. He turned out to be a much more picky eater than his companion. Leaning over the basket, he sniffed at the apples fervently like a trained dog, judging the aroma. He finally decided on the biggest, ripest, and the reddest apple of the bunch. As he munched on it delightedly with his formidable jaws, he seemed to be floating on cloud nine. Three bites and the whole fruit was gone, the core and the stem included.

Martha raised her eyebrows but smiled at the feral boy. He was definitely different than an ordinary human his age, but every child was basically the same inside their heart, no matter the species. When Fawnlock looked at her with gratitude, licking his lips clean from the juice, her heart melted. She ruffled both her grandson's hair and his friend's mop of dark fur growing between and around the antlers. 

“How about staying in the garden today, hm?” she proposed. “You don't have to prance about the forest.” Since the rest of the family was away and there were no strangers nearby, it was a great opportunity to keep John closer to home for once. The woods were vast and dangerous, despite his having a guide versed in their secrets. She'd be much calmer, knowing where John was and what he was doing. He was still a small child, after all. 

John pondered about it, tapping his finger on his chin repeatedly. In the meantime , he gave Fawnlock his apple core, which the fawn devoured contently in one go. 

“What do you say to that, Fawnlock?” he asked his companion, wanting the decision to be joint. “Do you want to play in my garden?”

The forest boy's gaze flickered sheepishly from his friend to the older woman. He seemed rather out of his element and unsure about the whole idea. Leaving the forest for a while and getting tasty treats was nice, but he felt strange outside his usual environment. 

“Hóuśę?” he asked hesitantly, making an unhappy noise somewhere between a snort and a hiss.

“No, we won't go into the house if you don't want to. We'll stay outside, okay? I'll show you a swing!” John offered excitedly.

“Świńg?” Fawnlock furrowed his eyebrows. That was a new word and he had no idea what it meant. It was frustrating not to know. Frustrating and intriguing. He looked at John curiously, his ears twitching in obvious interest. 

As she looked at the forest boy, Martha still had rather conflicted emotions about him. On the one hand, it was undeniable that he belonged to a magical and dangerous ilk, whose intentions towards the human race weren't so clear. No longer than two weeks ago she witnessed with her very own eyes the fury of the wronged nature. Who knew what could have happened to the village and people living there if John hadn't brought the fawn back to the forest in time? She heard stories about the spirits, Cienie, and how fickle and cruel they could be to people who angered them. On the other hand, how could such an endearing five-year-old be held responsible for his kind's doings, however despicable they were? He and John seemed to get along. The fawn was soaking up the knowledge like a sponge and he proved several times how clever he was. Perhaps their relationship would establish a true peace and a better understanding between the two species? Besides, she'd rather have John hanging around with a creature of legends than see him all alone and miserable. She wondered if her daughter would agree with that. Doubtful. Sarah Watson didn't believe in any of this mystical nonsense. Oh, if she only knew...

“Come on, let's go,” John took the initiative, seizing his friend's hand and leading him to the other side of the house. The right part of the garden was his grandma's territory where she grew fruits, vegetables, and flowers, so she didn't really approve of her grandchildren and their friends prancing around her strawberry patches or beds of tulips. The left side of the garden, connected to the porch and the back door of the house, was designed to be a recreational area. Apart from the sea of grass and a hedge surrounding the terrain, there was only an old oak tree standing there since forever. To one of his sturdy branches was attached a simple swing made of a rope and a plank. Nothing fancy, but both Watson's children spent a lot of time on it, having the time of their lives (often first needing to fight over whose turn it was). John's grandpa, may he rest in peace, had hung it there when Harry was born. On the lawn there was also a washing line spread out high between two poles, one near the porch, the other near the hedge. It was a good place to play volleyball or at least some variety of it. Maybe they could try it later. 

Even though it was John's place, Fawnlock was the first to show the other something amazing. As they walked, the fawn's head kept turning in every direction. There were so many new things to see, to hear and to smell! Seeing the expression of awe on his companion's face, John giggled, nonetheless making a beeline for the swing. Nothing here was particularly outstanding in the eyes of the boy who had spent most of his life surrounded by the wonders of London. 

“Óh, Jóhń!” Fawnlock cried out suddenly, noticing something that ignited a spark of inspiration within him.

“What?” The boy stopped, intrigued by this outburst. 

Fawnlock gave him a big, toothy grin. “Mągić? Jóhń wąńt śęę mągić?” he asked, his blue eyes shimmering brightly like two stars.

John only smirked in response. “You've already showed me magic before, remember? Flipping the stone? Very impressive.”

His nonchalant attitude annoyed the forest boy to no end, prompting him to stomp his leg repeatedly on the ground, while snorting like an angry hedgehog.

“Ńó, Jóhń! Mągić! Mórę mągić! Fąwńlóćk lęąrń!” he insisted, making a frustrated whine in the back of his throat. As far as John understood over his friend's thick accent and the deficiency of English words and non-existent grammar, Fawnlock must have practised his craft. Perhaps he was bored when his foot was healing, so he spent his time at home, studying how to cast spells. Wherever his home was, that is. And, of course, if something like true magic even existed. Though after witnessing Fawnlock's guardian and her fury, John's store of scepticism was severely depleted when it came to witchcraft.

“Alright, if you want to show me so badly... Go on,” John gave his permission, sensing that it was important to his friend. He wasn't wrong. Fawnlock bounced up and down a few times before making John walk with him towards one of the poles, where, after a bit of straining his eye-sight, John was able to spot a small bee resting.

“Pszczoła!” Fawnlock explained in a scholarly tone, pointing to the bug. 

“Pshtsh... What?” John made a few attempts to imitate the sounds produced by Fawnlock, but gave up. It was hopeless. He was pretty sure that he'd sooner break his tongue than repeat the word even remotely in a correct way. If they wanted to communicate, they had to use English or they were doomed to failure. “Um... Yeah. That's a bee.”

“Bęę...” Fawnlock repeated dutifully. Words! He needed to know more words and talk to John with ease.

“So that's the magic? You found a bee?” The boy asked, raising his eyebrows. If that was what Fawnlock had up his sleeve – well, metaphorically – it was a bit lame. 

Fawnlock rolled his eyes in a very human manner. 

“Śtupid Jóhń,” he stated mercilessly. Before John could start feeling offended, he added. “Łóók! Mągić!” 

So John watched him impassively, thinking that surely he wouldn't be impressed in any way by the spectacle. He was in for another scam, which at the moment he wasn't so eager to witness, since the swing was waiting for them to play. Still, he decided to humour his companion. Fawnlock with a strop was no fun at all. 

When the fawn was sure that John was paying attention, he started to murmur something under his breath. It was either his own language or some spells, the boy couldn't tell the difference. Perhaps there was none. 

To John's big surprise, the insect reacted to whatever Fawnlock was doing. The bee started to buzz and spread his wings, leaving the pole. The boy thought at first that it simply wanted to fly away and go about its business, but no. The bee first flew in a circle, then made a loop, and after some goofing around in the air finally rested on the tip of Fawnlock's extended finger, who laughed happily, proud of himself.

“Śęę, Jóhń? Mągić!” 

This time John joined the laughter, not because he was amused by Fawnlock shenanigans, but he was amazed by this display of benign supernatural powers.

“Cool. You're gonna be a mighty wizard one day. Or a bee whisperer. You can have the bees make a lot of honey and then sell it and get rich!” John babbled excitedly, getting a bit carried away. Fawnlock probably had no idea what his friend was even saying, but he smiled anyway, recognising the exuberant expression on his face. John liked magic. The fawn needed to learn as much as he could to show new tricks to his friend. For now, though, the show was over and he let the bee go.

“Ńów świńg!” Fawnlock ordered, nodding his head once to indicate that he had fulfilled his duty to entertain the human and now wanted a treat. The boy didn't really have a choice; not that he needed any. John dragged his friend towards the swing and decided to show him how this device worked. He jumped onto the plank, grabbed the rope tightly with his hands and shuffled his hips a bit to find the most comfortable position. 

“Stand back, Fawnlock, I don't want to hurt you!” John warned him prudently. The tone of his voice must have been very convincing because the fawn obeyed despite his curiosity and quickly hopped to the other side of the tree, hugging to the bark and peeking from behind the oak with fascination, his ears twitching like they used to when their owner was intrigued. 

Sitting on the swing, John tiptoed back to gain momentum and then lifted his legs in the air. The swing fell forward with great speed. The boy smiled and worked both with his calves and his back, leaning back and forth, to set the plank swinging high.

Fawnlock observed him in amazement, his mouth forming a big letter 'o'. Seeing the pure joy in his human friend's smile, it was easy to deduce that this whole swing business must have been extremely enjoyable. The fawn bleated impatiently, rubbing one of his antlers against the tree, thus showing how much he wanted to try this himself. 

John's feet dug hard into the ground, stirring up a flurry of dust. His mum always scolded him for that, but fortunately she wasn't around to witness this glaring display of defiance against having clean shoes and trousers. 

“Okay, okay. Now it's your turn, be my guest,” he said, stepping out of the swing and gesturing to it invitingly as if he was a seller presenting his newest product to the audience. Fawnlock skipped lightly to the device like a little deer and as happy as a lark, ready for another adventure in exploring the weird world of humans. He didn't sat on the plank immediately, though, but started with a thorough inspection of every nook and cranny of the contraption. This swing thing seemed easy to build. Maybe he could even make one at home?

Only when his curiosity had been satisfied, Fawnlock decided to put his bum carefully on the wobbly swing, which apparently couldn't remain perfectly still even for a moment. Fascinating. He sniffed at the rope and felt its rough surface under his fingertips. Interesting. Gripping it tightly, Fawnlock swung his legs vehemently, since he barely reached with his toes to the ground.

“I can push you if you want,” John offered. But Fawnlock just huffed at him haughtily as if to show that he could manage perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much. John took a step back, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, okay. Suit yourself...”

The boy watched in amusement how Fawnlock puffed out his chest and brought his legs back as far as he could in an attempt to imitate John's movements. Despite his best efforts – frustrated grunts and gold-medal-worthy contortions – the only thing the fawn achieved was losing his balance and falling down hard on his knees.

“You okay?” John asked quickly, crouching beside his friend and, as always, ready to provide assistance. Fawnlock didn't need help, though. It seemed that the thing that got injured the most was the creature's pride. He sat on his haunches, staring at the minor grazes on his legs with a pout to end all pouts on his face.

“Śtupid świńg!” he spat, clearly miffed how a stupid plank could have betrayed him so horribly. Stupid humans with their stupid inventions!

John had to bit his cheek to prevent a giggle from escaping his lips. Fawnlock would be angry if he started to laugh, but it was quite funny how the fawn always thought he knew something best only to huff and puff angrily when the world proved him wrong and he encountered an obstacle. He was far too pig-headed for his own good. 

“We don't have to use a swing. Let's play with a ball!” The boy proposed, offering his hand to his friend to help him stand up. Fawnlock graciously accepted and stood up straight with a groan.

“Bąłł?” he asked suspiciously, crinkling his nose. The trust he put in human devices had been challenged by the current incident. 

“Yeah, I'll show you!” John didn't waste any time. He turned around on his heels and dashed in the direction of the porch. Fawnlock approached him carefully, gawking at the human, who delved under the bench, rifling through some exotic looking stuff, most of which Fawnlock had no idea what they were used for. “Ha!” John let out a shout of triumph when he found a red, football-sized ball, but much lighter and softer. He shoved it into the surprised Fawn's arms before he ran off to the other side of the washing line, staring at his companion expectantly. 

Fawnlock didn't really notice any signals given by John, since he was far too fascinated by the object he currently hugged to his chest to pay any attention to anything else. He didn't quite understand what that round, smooth thing even was. It was spherical like rocks sometimes, but didn't weight as much and wasn't so hard. It wasn't an egg or a nut either because the shell was far too soft to protect anything. When Fawnlock squeezed it between his hands, the surface sagged ever so slightly, but it didn't burst out with pulp and juice like berries. The fawn was in awe. What a curious mystery! 

“Throw it to me!” John urged, waving his hands. This pulled the fawn out of his reverie. Fawnlock didn't plan to obey for now. At least until he could figure out what this ball thing was. He sniffed at it, thirsty for knowledge. Traces of skin, sweat and grass. Interesting. He stuck out his tongue and moved it across the red surface. That was a big mistake.

“Bue...” Fawnlock yelped with disgust, spitting furiously on the lawn to get rid of that terrible taste from his tongue. 

Looking at the misadventures of his stubborn friend, John was in stitches.

“It's a toy! It's not for eating, dummy!” he pointed out with an amused smile. “It's for playing! Come on, throw it to me, I'll show you!”

Fawnlock snorted and muttered something in his own language that didn't sound too pleasant, but he threw the ball in John's direction as requested with a great force, thus nearly knocking the wind out of the human when the missile collided with his stomach. 

“Oi! That's _not_ how we play!” John called to him with resentment as he rubbed his assaulted belly. Fawnlock really needed a 101 on fair play. Maybe later. For now John had to convey to his forest friend rudimentary knowledge about how volleyball worked. It wasn't easy, since the fawn's command of English still wasn't all that great, but with the help of extensive usage of gestures and a few demonstrations, John managed to get his point across. Fawnlock got interested enough in the odd idea of bouncing a ball over the washing line while not letting it hit the ground that he was eager to try this game. Despite the few initial hiccups and misunderstandings, they had a lot of fun. 

As the fawn whooped cheerfully when he scored a point and John fell flat on his face in an unsuccessful attempt to retake the ball, he realised that he quite liked this place. It felt a bit exposed without the trees all around it like in the clearing in the forest, but there was grass everywhere, plenty of food if he wanted to get something and, obviously the company of his friend. The garden quickly started to occupy a high position on his list of favourite places.

The next time Fawnlock got a hold of the ball, he mewled something incoherent, putting it down. John had no idea what it was about, but he didn't ask, simply watching as the fawn walked to side of his house, fumbled in the patch of thick fur in his crotch's area and then started to piss on the wall with a steady stream of urine. Fawnlock's brows were creased as if he concentrated fully on the task.

John for a moment was speechless. No one had ever told him how to deal with a similar situation. His mother hadn't made a lecture on how to politely make a guest stop taking a leak on the wall. John had to manage the situation on his own to the best of his own abilities. 

“Oi!” he shouted, coming briskly closer to the fawn. “You can't pee on my home! Bad Fawnlock!”

The antler boy glared at him and hissed, barring his teeth. That didn't discourage the youngest, but the bravest, of Watsons.

“Don't you hiss at me, you stinky rug! Stop it right now! It's impolite to visit someone and then piss on their house! My mum would have skinned you and stuffed you with sawdust if she saw you!” That grotesque threat wasn't probably that far from the truth, as his mother did indeed have a Scottish temperament, but Fawnlock didn't seem frightened in the least. 

The fawn stopped the peeing, hid his willie safely back among the fur, and then unexpectedly bowed his head, let out a hostile shriek and charged full tilt at John. The boy jumped to his right, dodging the antlers just by the skin of his teeth. 

“Hey, woah! What are you doing?!” John cried out. Fawnlock remained deaf to his friend's inquiries. He turned around, made another threatening bleat and attacked the boy once again. Fortunately, John managed to evade the antlers once more or he'd have ended up impaled.

“Stop that! That's not funny!” he insisted, completely confused by his friend's aggressive behaviour. He'd never been like this before. Fawnlock was actually amiable, albeit a little impish, but never showed any violent tendencies. What had happened?

When the fawn decided to lunge at him again John was prepared. He had to stop this madness before someone - most probably him - got hurt. Stepping aside as Fawnlock passed him by, he tripped the creature over and then, not giving him the time to regain his posture and scramble to his feet again, John sat on the fawn's back, pressing him to the ground.

“What was that? Are you mad?” The boy asked angrily, immobilizing the fawn, who tried to struggle for quite a while to break free, but to no avail. All this trashing, flailing, and furious noises amounted to nothing. Finally, Fawnlock gave up. His whole body went limp, his mouth hung open, and a long, pitiful wail started to come out of the depths of his throat. 

John couldn't be more baffled by this turn of events. After a moment of hesitation, the boy carefully stood up and sat beside the snivelling fawn, poking him haltingly on the shoulder.

“Um... Fawnlock? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I-I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to, but you threw yourself on me and I didn't really know what to do...”

Fawnlock sat up slowly, still crying like a baby. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto his chest and stomach.

“Ńó gó! Ńó gó, Fąwńlóćk!” he managed to utter between sobs.

“You don't want to go? Well, you don't have to...” John replied in a state of absolute confusion.

Hearing all the commotion and cries, Martha came around the house to check what was going on, the basket full of apples still in her hand. 

“Hey, little one, what's going on?” she asked with worry, crouching beside the blubbering fawn. He mumbled something without making any sense, only repeating incoherently what he had already said to John. Seeing that she wouldn't get any explanation from the forest creature, she turned to John.

“I don't know what got into him! Honestly!” John swore solemnly and began his disjointed account of the events. “We were just playing with a ball when he suddenly stopped and went to... to take a pee on the house!” he said, rather scandalised and a bit embarrassed for his friend's lack of manners. “I told him that he shouldn't do it, I even yelled at him a bit, and then he attacked me! Three times! If I hadn't moved out of the way I would now have holes in my stomach!” he admitted, a little scared, but more in disbelief. How could it be that Fawnlock wanted to harm him? “So then I tripped him and when he fell I sat down on him to make him stop, but then he started crying! Did I hurt him?” John seemed genuinely worried that he might have injured his friend. As far as he knew there was no blood but what if he had some kind of internal bleeding? John heard on the telly that it was usually very bad and very painful.

Martha remained silent, thinking about this strange occurrence. She wasn't an expert in fawnology, but she had enough contact with animals to have her suspicions what this whole scene was about. She reached to the little crying creature and hugged him tightly to her chest, shushing him. The fawn grabbed her blouse tightly, wetting it with his tears.

“John didn't mean it, honey. Of course this is your territory as well. He didn't want to throw you out.”

John gave his grandma a confused stare while Fawnlock looked up at her tearfully. He probably didn't understand everything she said, but it was enough to calm him down slightly. 

“Tęrritóry? Fąwńlóćk tęrritóry?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, love. It's yours too. Just don't let anyone else see you, okay?” she said, smiling at him warmly and wiping the tears away from the furry face with her cuff. Fawnlock nodded eagerly and smiled as well.

John felt like he was the only one there who had no idea what was going on. It was as if his gran had suddenly started to communicate in fawnish, leaving the boy completely in the dark.

“I don't understand...” he admitted, shaking his head slowly. He'd be very grateful for some sort of an explanation. 

“It's very simple actually, sweetheart,” she said, ruffling Fawnlock's hair and letting him pick another apple from the basket. The fawn leapt at the opportunity, once again choosing the prettiest fruit from the bunch. “Apparently fawns are territorial creatures. Like wolves, for example. He liked it here, so he decided to mark this area as his own. But then you started shouting at him, so he must have thought that you were actually defending your own territory and wanted to cast him out. And a custom in that situation is to fight.”

“Oh.” Now everything made sense. “So when I knocked him to the ground, he thought that I defeated him and wanted him gone?”

“Exactly.”

John looked at the fawn and smiled, extending his hand to him in reconciliation. “I'm sorry. I didn't know. You're always welcome here, really. I don't mind. As long as any other people beside me and gran won't see you, it's all fine. Just don't pee on the house, okay? That's rude.”

Fawnlock took his hand to show that he wasn't angry, but at the same time he tilted his head as if he kept thinking about some deep existential problem.

“Whęrę pęę?” he asked finally, his big blue eyes flickering from the boy to the elderly lady.

John thought of a way that should suffice to satisfy both sides.

“Near the hedge,” he said, pointing in that direction with his other hand. “You'll mark not only the house but the whole garden as your own.”

“Oooo!” Fawnlock made a gleeful click in the back of his throat at this brilliant idea and then jumped to his feet, trotting straight to the hedge. After a bit of shuffling, a small trickle of urine landed on the branches and leaves. 

“I'm glad mum didn’t see that,” John concluded with a mischievous smile.

“You and me both, sweetheart...” Martha agreed without any reservations, watching as the fawn finished the markings and started skipping lightly back to them.

“I'm just happy that he didn't pee on me to mark me as his own,” John heaved a sigh of relief.

“Don't give him ideas, love.”

The humans laughed hysterically in unison much to the little fawn's confusion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! If everything goes according to plan, in the next chapter we'll meet Moosecroft!

“Harry, you can't just barge in there and--”

“Like hell I can't!”

John cracked one eye open – just enough of an aperture to show his dark blue iris to the world – and lifted his head groggily at the hellish noise outside his bedroom. His mind was still floating blissfully somewhere in the realm between sleep and wakefulness, remnants of pleasant dreams doing everything in their power to glue his eyelids back together and send him away in the throes of slumber. With all those relentless obstacles lulling his attention, he couldn't really process what was happening around him. The fact that the door to his room slammed open, with such force that the hinges wailed in protest, helped him at least to become slightly more lucid. He had to be vigilant in the presence of fury incarnate. A fury with a potty mouth too.

“What have you done to it, you dimwit?! I swear, I'm gonna kick your sorry arse so hard that mum will have to fish out my shoe from your throat!”

“What...? What are you rambling about...?” John slurred, rolling on his back and propping himself up on his elbows as he tried to focus his filmy gaze on his sister. 

Harriet Watson, who for some reason always insisted to be called Harry, was twelve, though people usually assumed that she was at least three years older. She experimented with make up, wore flattering clothes, and her body had started to develop pleasant female curves. John obviously wasn't thinking about any of that at the moment. What the boy could see right now with painful clarity were the daggers she was glaring at him. 

“Don't play dumb!” she snapped. A true red-headed volcano of emotions ready to explode. “If you won't give it back right away – in mint condition – you are so screwed. I will tear all your comic books to shreds.”

“Give you back what?” John blinked at her in confusion, raking his hand through his short hair, now sticking out in every direction possible and a few more. It all felt like some kind of bizarre dream and the youngest Watson surely wanted to wake up soon.

His reply didn't please the slightly older Watson. She gritted her teeth and shivered, as if barely stopping herself from smacking her brother right in the face. She wasn't in the mood to be teased. 

“My dress!”

“What dress?” 

A hostile sound suspiciously similar to a growl of a rabid animal escaped Harry's throat and she strode towards her brother, clenching her fists. John was in for a violent, merciless pummelling. Knowing that perfectly well, he shrieked in terror, trying to extricate himself from the duvet and escape his painful fate through the other side of the bed.

“Come here, you little sh--!”

A loud and persistent cough somehow fought its way through all this commotion and caught the attention of both children. John froze with his one leg midair, and Harry grudgingly averted her gaze from her prey, looking over her shoulder. 

“What?” she asked bluntly, staring at their grandma who stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. 

“Will you, Harry, finally tell me what's going on instead of screaming blue murder at your brother?” Even though Martha's voice was calm and even, she wasn't requesting the information. She was demanding it and didn't have even a speck of doubt that she'd get it. That was the kind of authority she had in this house. 

Harry rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation, but at least she temporarily abandoned her impending murder spree. She was still steaming with anger, though.

“John stole my dress!” she growled, a tone of outraged accusation in her voice. “I need it for a party at Eve's. It starts in three hours!”

“I haven't stolen anything!” the boy protested, his gaze flickering from his furious sister to his grandma, hoping that at least one of them would see some sense and believe him. “Why would I want to steal your stinky dress anyway?”

Harry was about to lash out at him, but Martha's stoical questions stopped her in her place. 

“Where was that dress? In your room? Maybe your mother took it for a wash before going to work?”

“No! You don't understand! Mum washed it yesterday. She hung it outside to let it dry during the night. But it was gone in the morning,” she hissed, pointing her finger at John to stress his apparent guilt. “He took it! I know he did!”

“I didn't! I swear!”

Not letting the children indulge in another row, the grandma took a few steps inside the room and positioned herself between her grandchildren to separate them for safety reasons.

“How can you be so certain that it was John who took it?” she asked sensibly, to which Harry shrugged and shot her brother a disgruntled stare. 

“Who else? Besides, I found footprints on the path. He must have sneaked out of the bed, walked barefoot to the garden and stole my dress. If you damaged it I will damage you. Badly.”

John swallowed hard. When it came to threats Harry was a woman of her word. But what she said – bare feet – gave him a pretty good idea who might be responsible for the theft. He and Martha exchanged a furtive but knowing look. 

Fawnlock. After all, he had marked the garden as his own territory, and since no one had taught him that taking something from other people without permission was wrong – or perhaps such customs didn't apply to the land one reportedly ruled over – he must have nicked the dress. Well, at least he must have deemed it pretty enough to decide on stealing it, though that was a rather weak consolation.

“Harry, if John really has taken your dress, leaving footprints in the dirt, like you said, his soles would have been dirty. And they're not.” Martha spoke calmly, urging John to show his sister the proof of his innocence. The boy did it promptly, lifting one foot and then the other. They both were still reasonably clean after the bath he took yesterday before going to bed. 

“See? It wasn't me!” he said almost triumphantly. “Perhaps it was one of the neighbours! Maybe the Anderson's kid?”

Harry didn't seem entirely convinced, but her certainty wavered a little.

“It doesn't prove anything. You could have cleaned your feet after the theft.”

Martha sighed. There was only one way to resolve this conflict without bloodshed and tears shed. 

“Let's go and see those footprints, okay?” she proposed, putting her hand on the girl's shoulder and steering her gently, but firmly out of John's bedroom. Before they left, Martha glanced over her shoulder and spoke to John. “Get dressed, honey. We'll meet you in the garden.”

John nodded, knowing that he didn't have much of a choice. Well, so long for a quiet Saturday. He brushed his teeth in the blink of an eye, and put on his clothes even quicker. Time was of the essence. He knew that Fawnlock wasn't stupid enough to return to the garden while Harry was there, but his sister was unpredictable. If that dress wasn’t found, and found fast, who knew what she could do.

Without further ado, John ran downstairs, swiftly slipping his sneakers on, and grabbed the first thing that his hand touched, which was his blue scarf. Not an ideal protection against the morning chill, but it had to do for now. He didn't want to waste another second, so he dashed at full tilt to the garden, leaving through the back door.

Harry and his grandma were already there, standing by the path and staring at the trail of smudged footprints, leading to and from the hedge. The moment John joined them, the elderly woman turned to him.

“Put your foot inside the impression, love. Yes, just like this. See, Harry? Even in his shoes John's feet are too small. It wasn't him, who took your dress. Besides, why would he need to cross the hedge twice?”

In the face of the evidence the girl had to relent. Still, she wasn't very happy about it. 

“If not John then who? And why?” She needed to know the culprit to plot a satisfying revenge. In her case it wasn't an eye for an eye. It was the heads of your whole family for a chipped fingernail. 

“I don't know, honey,” Martha sighed regretfully. “I'm afraid you won't see that dress again. You should pick another one for the party.”

Harry didn't even want to hear about that. 

“No! It was brand new! I'm gonna find it! And that filthy thief!” She stomped her foot stubbornly, and let her gaze move downwards, following the tracks left by the thief. “He must have run into the forest. Maybe he hid it there somewhere. It's worth checking out at least. I'll find him even if I have to burn down the woods to the grou-”

“No!” John protested vehemently. Harry stared at him quite baffled, so John had to come up with something good instantly, not to rouse her suspicions. “I'll do it! I'll go and find your dress!”

“Why you? Why do you even care?” She eyed him incredulously, searching for some hidden motive. However, John was a poster boy for innocence.

“Because I want to help. Someone sneaked into our garden and stole our stuff. That's very mean. And grandma's right. We don't know if we can get it back and in what state, so you probably should prepare another one, just in case.”

Harry groaned in frustration andwanted to argue, but Martha put her hand again on the girl's shoulder and steered her towards the house, talking about the alternate outfit for the party. In the meantime she nodded discreetly towards her grandson, as if urging him to clear up this mess. The boy knew he had to take care of it. Letting Fawnlock simply snatch whatever he pleased wouldn't end up good in the long run.

John hopped over the hedge and darted into the forest, not really caring about the cold anymore. It never bothered him much, anyway. When he decided he was out of earshot of Harry and grandma, he started calling out to his forest friend. There was no response. Mumbling tiredly under his breath, John trotted in the direction of the clearing where Fawnlock often hung out. 

Intuition didn't fail John. There he was – Fawnlock in the flesh. And... in a white, flowery dress, adorned at present with brownish patches of mud and greenish smudges of grass. Harry would go berserk. That was a worry for later, though. Right now John observed his friend intently, who skipped lightly among the clovers, with a flower garland woven around his antlers. It somehow resembled the colour and pattern on the dress, so Fawnlock must have put a lot of effort into that. The fawn seemed completely preoccupied with his haul, touching it all the time and smoothing every crease. Finally, the antler boy noticed his human companion. 

“Jóhń!” he squealed mirthfully and danced towards him. “Fąwńlóck humąń!” he said with pride, twirling around, which made the fabric fill and blow in the wind. Fawnlock let out another delighted noise, putting his deft fingers on his lean waist as he stroked the delicate cotton with veneration. The dress for him must have been the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes upon.

John closed his mouth, which he didn't even realise he had opened earlier, and then parted his lips again to say how wrong it all was. Dresses were for girls! Somehow those words couldn't pass through his throat, though. Did it really matter that dresses were for girls? Fawnlock looked so happy in it, John didn't want to ruin that with such a callous remark. Besides, Fawnlock wasn't even a human nor did he wear any male clothes in the first place. His gender or species wasn't really an issue here; thievery was.

“Well... You look really pretty,” John stated, scratching his nose awkwardly. To his own surprise, he didn't even have to lie. The dress and flowers somehow suited the fawn, oddly enough. 

“Prętty!” He must have understood the meaning behind that word because his smile widened and he clapped his hands excitedly. John wasn't really sure how he should breach the topic to his excited friend. 

“Fawnlock... Um... You know that this dress belongs to my sister?”

The antler boy simply tilted his head, not comprehending what John was trying to say. “Mińę,” he stated matter-of-factly with a small pout, as if John was being terribly obtuse. Fawnlock was the one wearing it, after all, not this sister, whoever he was. 

“It's hers and you should give it back...” John insisted.

This time the fawn snorted angrily, clearly affronted at the insolent demand.

“Ńó! Fąwńlóck tęrritóry!” His loud protests were accompanied by a string of words in his own language that didn't seem overly friendly. 

John almost sighed in frustration. When they agreed to Fawnlock's marking of their garden they had no idea that the boy would actually treat it as his own and appropriate from there whatever caught his attention. 

“All right, it's your territory,” he said, lifting his hands in a conciliatory gesture, trying to calm his friend down. “ But in the world of humans – and you like to pretend to be a human, yeah? Fawns don't wear clothes, humans do – in the world of humans you have to ask someone before you take anything. That's how it's done,” he explained, satisfied with his lecture. Well, humans also paid money in exchange for various goods, but he didn't want to complicate things. Fawnlock seemed to have enough trouble comprehending that stealing was a no-no.

“Fąwńlóck prętty!” he mewled, looking at his dress. The corners of his lips were tilted down and the fawn seemed miserable. He didn't want to part with this beautiful thing. “Mińę!”

John stepped closer to him, and took the fawn's lean hand into his own. 

“You don't need a dress to look pretty, Fawnlock,” he said, offering him a bright smile. “You always look pretty.”

The fawn at first flapped his ears in confusion, but once his brain had processed what John meant, he reciprocated the smile, albeit a little shyly. But even then he was reluctant to return his spoils. He bounced on the balls of his feet, whining quietly. 

“Please, Fawnlock. For me. My sister will be very mad if I don't bring it back.”

The fawn made a very unhappy noise to signal that John was being awful, but grudgingly extricated his arms from the dress. He was so small and thin that he simply let it fall to the ground and stepped out of the puddle of fabric pooling around his feet. John carefully gathered the dress into his hands, at least thankful that it wasn't ripped anywhere. Harry wouldn't let that slide. 

John wanted to thank his friend, but seeing how disconsolate he seemed the boy suddenly felt guilty. Perhaps it was his own fault for not telling Fawnlock explicitly what was allowed and what was not. The customs in the forest surely were different. 

He couldn't leave him being sad like that. John thought for a while about a way to cheer him up, and then came the revelation. Of course! 

“Hey, Fawnlock, I want to give you something.”

The fawn shot him a curious stare that quickly changed into an expression of surprise when John wrapped his own scarf around Fawnlock's neck.

“Well, I hope you like it,” he said a bit sheepishly. Fawnlock already had a ruff of fur around his neck, so he had no need to wear a scarf, but there was nothing else John could give away safely. It wasn't as if he could go back home without trousers or a shirt. Thankfully, the fawn seemed overjoyed with the gift.

“Likę!” he exclaimed, running his fingertips along the tassels, and wrapping them around.

John sighed inwardly with relief.

“I'm glad you like it. Look, I'll just take the dress back home and then we can play, okay?”

“Ókąy.”

John turned around and ran back home. Fawnlock didn't move an inch. While waiting for his friend to return, he spent all his time with his nose buried in the scarf. It smelt like John. That was the richest and the most enticing fragrance he'd ever encountered in all five years of his life. _John._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're the best!
> 
>  
> 
> The next chapter will most likely contain bees.

The halcyon days of warmth and pleasant weather were sadly coming to an end. Nature seemed to finally realise that the summer was long gone and it was high time to release the autumn's winds and chill into the world, overcasting the bright blue sky with insipid grayness. Thankfully, today it wasn't raining like during the past week, for which John was truly grateful. If there had been as much as a passing drizzle, his mum wouldn't let him outside even to the garden, let alone to roam the forest. 

Honestly, she wasn't too happy about John's constant excursions, regardless of the weather. She kept grousing that her little boy was turning into a feral child – “Who does he think he is? Tarzan? David Attenborough? Bear Grylls?” – and claimed that to develop properly he definitely needed more human contact, especially with other children his age. Martha intervened, trying to soothe her daughter's worries. After all, it wasn't as if John was a lonely outcast at school without any friends, oh no. His easygoing and caring personality made him quite popular among his peers, even if he preferred not to hang out with any of them after classes. Perhaps the youngest Watson was simply an introvert, who needed his time alone in the bosom of nature to recharge his batteries. Every time John returned from the forest he seemed overjoyed and invigorated, which seemed to corroborate the grandma's theory. That explanation placated Lydia Watson, at least for the time being. Obviously, the truth, as usual, was much more complicated. Better though that the boy's mother didn't know the details about her son's fawnish companion or even about his existence. Open-minded as she was about many issues of the contemporary society, she most likely wouldn't have been overly tolerant towards a creature from the realm of myths and legends. 

The afternoon air was quite nippy, but John wasn't cold. Far from it, actually. He was hot, covered in sweat from head to toe, and panting heavily, his tongue lolling almost inertly on his chin. His time together with Fawnlock had been more than eventful. All this running about, playing tag or Ring Around the Rosie (the fawn loved it, especially the hitting the ground part, which he always did with a roar of laughter), and simply exploring every nook and cranny of the forest made John feel positively knackered. The fawn, on the other hand, seemed indefatigable and always eager for another adventure. As they moved through a dense yew grove, he walked jauntily with the same spring in his step as he did several hours ago, the scarf John had given him flowing behind him like a long tail. The endurance of the forest tribe shouldn't be underestimated. John was only human, though, and he needed to rest, even if only for a little while, just to relieve his aching legs.

“'Oi, Fawnlock!,” he cried out, nearly swallowing letters in his weariness. He ceased the marching and bent down, putting his hands on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath. “Let's stop for a while, okay? I really need a break.”

The fawn twirled around on his heel like a ballerina, and faced his friend, incomprehension painted all across his light brown countenance.

“Bręąk?” he asked, tilting his head to the right, which made his huge ears flap comically. In those frequent moments when he couldn't understand something he resembled a confused puppy. The only thing missing was distressed whining.

John chuckled softly. Other people had cats or dogs as pets, but how cool would it be to keep a fawn at home! Well, maybe after some toilet training. Peeing on the walls inside the house would be a pretty big offence. Hm... No, maybe not as a pet. Calling Fawnlock that was rude and unfair. After all, he was highly intelligent and spoke his own very complicated language. Maybe he didn't look quite human, but he definitely wasn't an animal either. Perhaps he was something in between, or simply another kind of a human, more primal? John had no clue. Not that he exactly had anyone to ask about it, so his doubts remained unsolved. Still, it would be nice to have a fawn at home, as his playing buddy. Maybe one day.

“Yeah, a break. A moment to rest a bit,” John supplied. He looked around to find a good place to sit down. A thick, sturdy root sticking out of the ground almost horizontally seemed like a decent choice, so John decided to park his haunches right there. The moss growing on top of the root provided nice cushioning, almost like a pillow. That was probably the forest's equivalent of a four star hotel, and he couldn't count on finding anything better. 

At least John didn't have to worry about ruining his clothes anymore. He had solemnly promised his mother that before going into the woods he'd change into the oldest and shabbiest rags he could find in his wardrobe. After tearing and soiling so many outfits, his mum had warned him that if he kept doing that she'd have to sell all John's comic books and toys to buy him new attire. That threat was unsurprisingly very effective. The deal was beneficial to both sides, since the boy no longer needed to stop himself from any craziness they wanted to do in the woods. No mud or burrow was safe from him anymore while he had permission to roll in grime to his heart’s content. 

Fawnlock's condescending snort was a clear indication that he could easily do without a break, but he padded in a nonchalant way to John and flopped down on the root next to his friend anyway, his legs swinging blithely in the air. He grabbed a tuft of moss between his finger and his thumb, sniffed at it for a while to assess its quality, and then put it happily into his mouth.

John watched this with a healthy dosage of uneasiness. “Wow. You're totally gross, you know that?” 

In response, Fawnlock gave him a green, toothy smile. Chewing joyfully without a care in the world, he offered the other boy a bit of his moist snack, already turned to unappetising mush by his molars. Somehow John decided that he wasn't hungry. At least not _that_ hungry.

He still felt hot, though. He huffed and puffed like an overheated dog. He decided to unzip his jacket. Having it on and boiling didn't seem like such a good idea. His jumper was already sticking unpleasantly to his damp skin. 

Fawnlock's nostrils flared as he picked John's pungent scent in the air. His eyes lit up instantly. Taking an advantage of this golden opportunity, he quickly unwrapped the scarf from his neck and tied it around John's.

“What are you doing? I'm not cold! The opposite in fact!” John protested, but the fawn pretended not to hear. He rubbed the fabric furiously against the human's skin, reaching even a bit under his jumper to scrub his back and armpit. When he finally seemed to be satisfied with the outcome of these bizarre doings, he pulled back and buried his nose into the scarf that now reeked of sweat. Fawnlock chirped mirthfully, as if this was the most pleasant fragrance he ever sniffed.

John first goggled his eyes in disbelief and then rolled them. “Really? Inhaling my sweat? You're truly, absolutely disgusting.” When Fawnlock cooed softly in response and wrapped the scarf again around his neck, the boy spoke with an amused smile. He couldn't really get mad at this loony creature. “That wasn't a compliment, you know.”

“Ćóm-płi-męńt!” he singsonged the new, interesting word, tasting it on his tongue. His love for learning human language – well, English to be exact, but for the fawn it was all the same – seemed boundless. If he mastered it, their communication would be more fluent. Sure as hell John had no chance of even acquiring the basics of fawnish. That was an unreachable fantasy.

“We can play a game if you want,” he said, getting the fawn's attention at once. “I say a word and then you have to say another, which starts with the same sound the other one ends.” The version with letters instead of sounds would probably be too difficult, since Fawnlock couldn't write or read. “So if I say 'tree' you say 'eagle', and then I have to say 'lick'. You get it?”

The fawn nodded eagerly, staring at his friend with his big curious eyes. “Yęś. Śtąrt!”

“Right. Okay. So my word is... sun!”

Fawnlock made a frustrated grunt in the back of his throat and creased his forehead, thinking deeply. To help himself concentrate, he pressed his long fingers to his temples.

“Em... em... Ńight!” he exclaimed, beaming with pride.

“Yup, you're right. Tank.”

Fawnlock blinked at him in confusion. “Whąt iś tąńk?”

John thought for a while about a fawn-friendly definition, but gave up. “Never mind. I'll show you one day. Tickling.” That word was much easier to explain and even demonstrate, which resulted in a bout of silly giggled on his friend's side. 

The game proved to be really entertaining and also educational. The fawn had learnt a few new words, especially of things that were around them, or their qualities – green, root, moss, and tail were just among the few. Overall, it was great fun and their joint peals of laughter, as well as occasional frustrated groans, rang loudly through the forest. 

Suddenly, Fawnlock's smile died on his lips and his whole body stiffened. He looked around intently, sniffing hard like an alarmed labrador. His large ears turned in every direction, almost like satellite dishes. The fawn was on high alert and John had no idea why.

“What's wrong?” John asked with worry, a little frightened. Were they in danger?

Fawnlock hissed in anger and yelled something in his own language that sounded very aggressive and annoyed. What could have caused such a reaction? Nothing good, that was for sure. John was full of foreboding. 

A moment later some rustling could be heard from the nearby thicket. It sounded like a big animal had entangled himself there before and now had been flushed out. Then, the Peeping Tom himself emerged from the bushes, dusting himself off with dignity. To John's surprise, it was another fawn. He looked a few years older than Fawnlock and was obviously bigger than him, with wider-stretching antlers. His rotund figure was also more plump, especially his protruding belly of stupendous girth. The colours of his fur were lighter and more reddish than Fawnlock's, though the spots on their bodies took similar shapes and adorned similar places. 

The intruder didn't seem terribly fazed that he had been caught spying. If anything, he looked down on the kids with an air of superiority about him, as if he ruled over the whole forest and a few nearby villages. Everyone basically should be grateful that his magnificence stooped so low as to interact with lowly peasants. In his attitude, he quite resembled a typical human teenage boy. At least that was John's conclusion after seeing the older boys in his school behaving, as if they owned the place.

“Who's that?” John whispered to his friend.

Fawnlock harrumphed with indignation, and replied, fuming, “Brat.” What followed was a long word in the foreign language, which John assumed to be the creature's name. Something resembling 'Moosecroft', as far as the boy could tell. He decided to call him just that. 

“A brat, huh? Not much love between the two of you then?” he asked rhetorically. It was clear from the way Fawnlock glowered at the other fawn. Were they related? Brothers perhaps? There was some degree of resemblance between them...

The bigger fawn sized the human up and down unblinkingly, clearly doing his best to look unimpressed. He seemed fascinated with John's ears, though, so small in comparison to his own, but he tried to conceal it the best he could. To mask how inquisitive he was, he made a disparaging comment. Even if John didn't understand it, the tone of his voice was telling enough. Rude.

“Zazdrość cię zżera i tyle!” Fawnlock spat angrily, to which Moosecroft scoffed. “Zająłbyś się lepiej swoją dietą grzybową,” Fawnlock spoke again, pointing mockingly to the elder fawn's stomach, which made Moosecroft furrow his eyebrows. They seemed to have a heated argument over something for a while - at least on Fawnlock's part as he kept making fun of the other, while he remained mostly quiet. John could only listen helplessly. Finally, Moosecroft got really offended. He snapped at the little fawn, as if demanding an apology, but Fawnlock didn't relent or take a step back. This was a matter of honour. Moosecroft squinted his eyes in a way that Harry did sometimes when she was plotting revenge. 

John had no idea that he would be the one to pay for Fawnlock's insolence, until Moosecroft stooped over him, as if performing an inspection. He fixed his burning gaze on John and his face took on an impish expression that the boy neither liked nor trusted.

Moosecroft extended his hand. He recited a long, convoluted sentence and then touched John's head with his chubby fingers, now glowing with a garish green hue. 

A perfect silence enveloped the forest for a few heartbeats until Fawnlock sucked in the air, making a scandalised noise. It was enough to send John spiralling down into worry, even though at first he wasn't aware what had just happened. He turned his head towards his friend, awaiting explanation, but then something smacked him right into his mouth. John peered in confusion at the long, yellowish thing dangling from one side of his head... both sides, actually. Were they... floppy bunny ears?

It couldn't be! John touched them haltingly with his fingertips, and then stroked them up and down in shock. Yes, the furry and fluffy appendages grew right out of his head, so long that they were nearly brushing against his chest. He tugged at them hard, which wasn't such a good idea. It hurt! They were real and a part of him now!

“W-what's going on?” John stuttered on the verge of panicking. Fawnlock was yelling now at the other fawn, incensed, while pointing at his disfigured human friend, probably demanding that he was to be brought back to normal at once. Moosecroft didn't even want to hear about that. He stuck out his tongue defiantly and then skedaddled, disappearing among the plants in the blink of an eye. As if he was never there. Without thinking, Fawnlock rushed after him. The forest consumed him as well.

“H-hey! Fawnlock! Don't leave me!” John pleaded, jumping to his feet and stumbling in the direction the fawns had run off. He trudged among the labyrinth of semi-paths winding to nowhere, scouring for his friend frantically. He was nowhere to be found. John spun around with trepidation, calling for Fawnlock, but there was no response. No matter how far he went, or how loud he bellowed the fawn's name, scaring off the birds, there was no one to come into succour for him.

The boy couldn't help but to feel scared out of his mind. He was all alone in the middle of the forest. But that wasn't the worst part. Even if he had any notion of how to get home, he still couldn't have gone there. Not when there was a pair of floppy bunny ears sticking out of his head. He was a freak now and couldn't live among humans anymore. He'd be sold to the circus on sight for sure!

John's eyes watered. Did it mean that he'd never see his mum again? Or his gran? Even Harry? He'd never go to school too. Well, that didn't seem that bad. His English teacher was really nasty. But he'd miss his class. They couldn't see him like this, no way! They would surely call him 'LopJohn', laugh and point fingers at him, and wouldn't want to talk with him anymore. He'd be a pariah among his peers. And, as he realised with painful clarity, he wouldn't be able to go to the bookshop and buy new comic books with his pocket money! No more comics for him.

John's spirits sagged. His hopes for a happy resolution were dwindling with every moment. For the rest of his life he'd have to dwell in the forest, eat moss and run away from wild animals or lost travellers. Even Fawnlock didn't want to be around him anymore. He'd be all alone, alone, alone...

John sat heavily on a dirty rock and started to sob piteously. The tears were flowing down his cheeks, and the boy smudged the saltiness all across his skin. Brave men didn't cry, but he was a bunny now, so that didn't count. Bunnies were allowed to sniffle a bit. 

“Co się stało, mały człowieku?” He heard a soft, sympathetic voice in front of him. He lifted his tearful gaze at the doe he had seen that fateful night when he brought injured Fawnlock back into the forest. This time she wasn't hostile. Far from it, in fact. A picture of placidity. She crouched in front of John and seemed to be genuinely concerned about the distraught human. 

“Moosecroft gave me these! And then he disappeared somewhere with Fawnlock!” he complained forlornly, prodding one of his large ears. It dangled pitifully in response to the stimulus. 

Even if she wasn't familiar with the words, she easily got the intent behind them. She leaned forward and sniffed unabashedly at the newest addition to John's body. When she pulled back, she made an identical facial expression to his own mum when she heard that Harry had done something stupid again. Perhaps that was something universal to all mothers, no matter the race or circumstances. 

The doe wiped John's cheeks tenderly and then whispered something, using her other hand to cast a spell. It took only one long word and a bit of green light to get rid of John's problem.

The boy gasped in delight, patting his head. The ears were gone! He was a human again!

“Ah, thank you! Now I can go back home!” John beamed at her gratefully. 

The doe nodded and helped the boy stand up. For such a dainty creature she was surprisingly strong. She whistled, and before she even finished the melody, a thrush flew up to her. She gave the bird an order and it moved to the nearby tree, perching on the branch. It chirped with annoyance, as if telling John to hurry up. Its task was apparently to get him safely out of the forest. 

“Thanks again. Tell Fawnlock bye--” he stopped when he realised that the doe was no longer there. Well, disappearing must run in the family. 

Still, John was all too happy to follow the bird and dashed home as fast as he could. The journey took about half an hour. When he noticed his mother sweeping the porch, he sprinted headlong to her and hugged her tightly, pressing his face to her stomach.

This unexpected display of affection truly baffled Mrs Watson. “Okay, John, what have you done?”

“Nothing,” he murmured, not letting her go. That was truly worrying. She tried a different approach

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked gently, running her hand through her son's short hair.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking up at her with a smile. “I just wanted to say that I love you very much.”

Mrs Watson's heart melted into a puddle. She bent down to kiss her son's forehead with motherly tenderness, getting all maudlin. “I love you too, John.”

For the rest of the day John was especially nice to everyone, even his sister (much to her surprise), and then spent the whole night reading comic books, while hiding under the duvet with a torch. He grew to appreciate all he had a little bit more.

Next morning John found a huge pile of moss on his porch, most likely put there by the small, apprehensive antlered-creature hiding unsuccessfully behind the bush. John smiled in his friend's direction. Apologies accepted for leaving him alone. As long as he didn't have to actually eat the gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: “brat” actually means “brother”. Fawnlock wasn't insulting Moosecroft, but simply introduced him. Poor John got it all wrong.
> 
> Zazdrość cię zżera i tyle! - Jealousy is eating you away, that's all!  
> Zająłbyś się lepiej swoją dietą grzybową – You’d better mind your mushroom diet.  
> Co się stało, mały człowieku? - What's wrong, little human?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're the best!

On the first day after the unfortunate close encounter of the third kind with Moosecroft, John and Fawnlock took advantage of the fact that the boy's family had gone to the city to do some extensive shopping and played amicably in John's garden for most of the afternoon. It was fun, though the fawn was still wary of the swing and couldn't be persuaded in any way to give it another try. Stubborn thing. 

On the second day, the weather was awful – all windy and drizzly – so John had to stay at home, getting really bored despite all his toys scattered around and all the comic books to read on his shelves. What was worse, Harry got grounded for being caught smoking at her friend's flat, and she mooned about the house aimlessly, her only objective apparently to make everyone else miserable. Her younger brother in particular, it seemed. 

It was only on the third day that John finally stepped into the forest. He planned to reach the clearing where he and Fawnlock usually met, but he hadn't even walked a hundred yards before he realised that a huge surprise was waiting right in front of him. 

Honestly, he hadn't expected to see Moosecroft ever again, nor would that fact sadden him a lot. But there he was, leaning against a thin birch tree with Fawnlock by his side. The older fawn seemed rather disgruntled, as if he was doing something against his will, which he considered on top of everything to be a terrible waste of time, but the younger creature was adamant to keep guard and prevent him from escaping. When the both of them heard John approaching, their reactions clashed greatly. Moosecroft scoffed and rolled his eyes, while Fawnlock beamed at his friend cheerfully and greeted him with a delighted squeal. 

“Um, hello.” John was far less enthusiastic, staring at the bigger fawn warily. His caution wasn't unwarranted. He'd very much not like to gain a tail, wings, tentacles or whatever other strange attachment Moosecroft could conjure. Bunny ears were enough in terms of bodily modifications for a lifetime. 

Moosecroft's attitude was a bit different this time, though. Although still secretly curious about the human, and perhaps a little jealous, above all he was noticeably discontented. Fawnlock prodded his kin right between ribs with his bony elbow, peering at him fixedly. The older fawn huffed in annoyance. Whatever he was thinking about, he must have deemed it as a folly unworthy of his attention. Only when Fawnlock hissed at him, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, did Moosecroft turn his head in a truly majestic fashion towards John, crush him with a deathly glare, and then mutter dispassionately, “Śóńy.”

His accent was even thicker than Fawnlock's and he lacked the ease with which the other formed statements. Moosecroft must have spent quite a while to memorise that word, even if in the end he did it incorrectly. The younger fawn didn't appreciate the effort.

“Śórry!” he corrected, articulating the word in an overly distinct way, which suggested that he considered his fawnish companion to be an utter moron. 

_“Śórry_ ,” Moosecroft repeated with dignity, ignoring the insolent child by his side, and added deliberately in a slightly kinder tone, “Ńót męąń hąrm.”

That seemed to be enough for Fawnlock, who clapped with excitement, his ears and tail waggling like an oversized puppy while he waited for John's reaction.

The human was above all baffled. The apology caught him completely by surprise. There had to be something more to that. Did Fawnlock's mother force Moosecroft to express regret for his action? It seemed likely. He couldn't think of any other reason why the teen would care enough to say he was sorry.

“Um... It's okay. Just don't do it again!” John replied, trying to sound firm and determined like someone who wasn't afraid, even a tiny little bit, nuh-uh, never.

Moosecroft tilted his head and glanced at his furry companion, anticipating translation, since he couldn't speak the barbaric human language. Fawnlock was eager to provide it. Once the message had been conveyed, the older fawn rolled his eyes and huffed in indignation once more. He apparently had no interest in repeating that juvenile trick. John couldn't be happier.

Now that everything was said and done, John expected Moosecroft to walk away and leave them to their own devices. It wasn't so. The fawn turned on his heel, beckoned at John, telling him wordlessly to follow, and then strutted into the bushes. 

John glanced at Fawnlock, awaiting some explanation. Instead, the fawn grabbed his hand and dragged him along. The hold was so tight that the boy couldn't help but think that Fawnlock actually wanted to assure him that this time he wouldn't leave him behind no matter what. It was comforting, since John had no idea what would happen next. 

The long trek through the woods – yet another part of the forest he was unfamiliar with – ended near an old tree. Well, it used to be a tree once, but after being struck by lightning ages ago, right now it was nothing more than an old, charred, and broken stump about five feet high. The ground in its vicinity was covered solely in grass and weeds, but only a couple of yards behind it a meadow full of fragrant and colourful flowers stretched away to the shores of a small pond. Even from the distance John could see a raft of ducks bathing there carelessly. 

The surroundings were pretty, but the purpose of their trip here became clear only when John heard a low buzzing. He turned his head and focused his eyes curiously on the stump. He hadn't noticed it at first, distracted by the view of the place, but on further inspection he spotted an awful lot of low-humming bugs flying in and out of the big hole in the bark three feet above the roots. 

“Oh! It's a hive! You wanted to show it to me!” he exclaimed in excitement. He'd never seen one in the wild. One of his grandma's neighbours kept bees, but they all lived in neat, wooden houses painted in bright colours. Too bright, in John's opinion. On a sunny day eyes hurt from merely glancing in that direction.

“Hivę!” echoed Fawnlock with a radiant smile. “Bęęś! Um...” He clearly lacked the word he wanted to use. Furrowing his eyebrows with frustration, as he couldn't come up with anything, he resorted to a short pantomime. He dipped his two fingers into an invisible container, licked them, then swiped his tongue across his lips with pleasure, and rubbed his stomach, making a lot of happy mewling. 

Now the penny dropped completely.

“Honey! We're gonna get honey!” 

The smile the fawn gave him in response to that revelation confirmed John's deduction. “Hóńęy! Yum, yum!” 

Moosecroft bleated at him with exasperation, clearly telling him to be quiet. Surprisingly, Fawnlock complied. He turned to his brother and stared at him with remarkable intensity. John suspected that Moosecroft was about to start a lesson and they were pupils. He decided that it would be a smart thing to pay attention, even if he wouldn't be able to understand words. Thankfully, it was a demonstration, not a lecture. 

The podgy fawn could move quite fast when he wanted, but right now he walked almost painfully snail-like towards the hive. One short step and then a motionless wait. Another step, another wait. In this tempo it took him at least a couple of minutes to cover the few yards distance between the spot they occupied and the stump. Reaching inside was an even more complicated process. For a long while Moosecroft simply stared into the hole, hardly blinking. He didn't even flinch when some bugs landed on him and walked across his skin or buzzed right next to his big ears. Soon enough the bees started to ignore him, deeming him harmless. That was the goal. When the good moment came, the fawn whispered something in his own language and blew air gently on the hive. 

Something happened with the bees. Suddenly all became sluggish and buzzed half-heartedly, as they barely moved around. Then everything occurred seemingly at once: Moosecroft put his hand inside, scooped some honey, and instantly materialised right in front of the younger boys. The bees gradually awoke from the stupor, none the wiser to who stole their precious surplus. 

Moosecroft looked very smug when he extended his hand graciously towards the boys, letting them taste the spoils he'd just acquired. Fawnlock didn't need to be encouraged further. He ran his index finger across the palm of his brother's hand and put the honey inside his mouth. The delighted “mhm” sound he let out coaxed John to try it as well.

“It's really good!” he had to agree, as he felt the pleasant, heavy sweetness slowly flowing down his throat. 

That was the end of Moosecroft's generosity. He ate the rest himself almost in one go. At least John could guess now why the fawn was so chubby. 

Fawnlock jumped up and down, dying to get the honey on his own. Judging by the flurry of shrilly bleats he produced, he was begging his older brother to let him do it. Moosecroft wasn't entirely convinced. He responded with a long tirade, most likely telling Fawnlock what a dangerous endeavour it was and that he should be especially careful. The little fawn barely listened to him, too eager to go ahead. Seeing the futility of all his warnings, the bigger fawn gave a long-suffering sigh, and finally let him do it.

Fawnlock instantly got down to work. He perfectly copied Moosecroft's stalking pose and in no time found himself near the stump. Casting a spell didn't cause him too much problem either. But then everything went wrong. As he was reaching inside the hole, his antlers scraped the bark a little just above the hole. A few specks of wooden dust and splinters landed inside the hive. Objectively, it seemed like such an insignificant occurrence. But it was enough to break the charm. 

In an instant a thunderous buzz rang from within the stump as the swarm awakened. And it was furious about the intrusion. A truly murderous force that couldn't be stopped or reasoned with, and wouldn’t show any mercy. Fawnlock's ears flattened close to his skull. He was terrified and rightfully so. Yelping piteously, he scurried away in panic. 

Moosecroft reacted instinctively. 

“W nogi!” he yelled, dashing across the meadow towards the pond – their only salvation, so far away that it was nearly unreachable. This time language barrier didn't prevent John from understanding. Nothing screamed 'run' as loudly as a swarm of furious bees charging at you at full speed.

John had never galloped so fast in his life. He was right at the fawns' heels, making, well, a beeline for the water. He felt a painful sting somewhere on his shoulder blade and under his knee, which made him stumble briefly. The terror and despair caused him to sprint even faster.

“Can't you use magic to stop them?!” he screeched to his friend, his voice nearly lost in the deafening hum. 

Fawnlock shot him a sidelong glance, which could have been read as his usual 'you're stupid' expression if it weren't for the fact that his eyes were wide and filled with fear.

The three would-be honey snatchers jumped and dived into the pond almost at the same time, splashing the icy cold water all around them, and scaring off the ducks, which had to evacuate themselves at once with loud, reproachful quacks. The boys were alive, but only by the skin of their teeth. The next thirty minutes they spent underwater, only emerging to catch a breath and see if the coast was clear. It was one of the longest and most agonizing thirty minutes of John’s life. Eventually, the bees flew away and it was safe to leave the pond. The fawns and the human were all in a rather pathetic state, so they decided collectively that it was enough shenanigans for the day. 

Less than an hour later John came home half-drowned, drenched to the skin, shivering from cold, and with a disfigured body from the swollen bee bites, which seemed to be everywhere. His mother and grandma came to the rescue, doing everything in their power to warm him up and fight off the pain, but his sister had little sympathy. And when she learnt that the boy had been stung on his bum – twice! – she laughed at him for the rest of the day. Next time he saw Moosecroft, John really needed to ask him to turn Harry into a toad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that John will catch a cold after that. Just saying, no spoilers...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're awesome!

If John had hoped that his misadventure with bees and prolonged bathing in cold water wouldn't have any negative consequences, reality unfortunately crushed that assumption without a shred of mercy. The swellings from stings were painful to the point of making him cry – but only a little! – even after his mum and gran smeared some stinky medicine on the bites. What was even worse, he developed a nasty, hacking cough that very soon was followed by a sore throat, running nose and high fever. The doctor's diagnosis sounded like a boredom's death sentence to him. Pneumonia. Under no circumstances was John to leave his house, and his bed preferably, for at least the next two weeks. On top of that, he had to swallow lots of disgusting pills and syrups. All of that obviously for his own good. Being ill was definitely no fun. 

Four days had passed since John was forced to be house-ridden and basically glued to his bed. The stings were slowly turning into nothing but an unpleasant memory with the pain almost gone. The illness unfortunately persisted. John felt so weak all the time that he wasn't even slightly tempted to stir unless absolutely necessary. He obeyed the doctor's orders simply because he couldn’t muster up enough strength for defiance. 

Lying under the duvet and staring blankly at the ceiling, John wondered what Fawnlock was doing right now. Was he bitten as badly? Did he get sick? Was there a doctor in the forest? If there wasn't any then he was in big trouble! …No, Fawnlock was probably totally fine. He had to be. Maybe fawns couldn't even get sick or bitten at all with that thick fur of theirs. 

He missed the forest and Fawnlock fiercely, even when it was raining and he normally   
wouldn't be able to go out anyway. Today, on a sunny, bright, beautiful day, the ennui was unbearable. If he had felt good enough to actually move and whine, he'd be tailing his grandmother like a little duckling, moaning constantly that he wanted to go to the woods. However, since he felt only slightly better than a corpse on a slab, he remained still and quiet, trying to forget about his pneumonia by imagining his favourite scenes from the comic books he had read earlier. Well, more looked at pictures, honestly, because he couldn't focus enough on putting the letters together with his raised temperature. Not that it mattered much; he knew them all by heart. 

It was barely midday, but he was already bored out of his mind. His mother was at work, Harry was at school, and his grandma was downstairs, making various fruit preserves for the winter. Even if his bedroom was drowning in mixed sugary scents of apricots, apples and cherries, his nose was too clogged to smell anything. Maybe at least she'd give him a treat later. Yesterday she let him try some of the strawberry jam, but it tasted to John like paper. Being sick really sucked. 

_Knock knock._

Something tapped gently at the window. John stared in that direction, confused. He couldn't see anything at this angle and leaving the bed to check it didn't seem like such a great idea. Maybe he had just imagined it. In his sorry feverish state anything was possible.

_Knock knock!_

This time the rapping on the glass was more deliberate and persistent. A deep crease appeared on John's forehead. So maybe he hadn't imagined it. What was it? Wind carrying some pebbles or gravel? Some errant branch of a tree? 

_Knock knock! Knock knock! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!_

“Okay, okay, I hear it! Enough!” John muttered angrily to himself. The sound was driving him bonkers. If it was somehow the fault of an apple tree in the garden, he'd have no other choice but to chop it down. Immediately. Never mind his pneumonia. 

Unfortunately, the knocking didn't stop after his outburst. Apparently the insolent tree wasn't afraid of one sick child. John had no other choice, but to actually assess the situation by leaving his bed. It was a challenging feat, as his covers seemed to weight at least a hundred pounds and his limbs three times as much. The temperature-induced vertigo didn't help either. The boy sighed, shifting to the edge of the mattress. He sat upright with a groan, letting his feet fall to the floor with a thud. It took him three attempts before he actually managed to heft his body and stand up wobbly. Good. There was some progress. Yesterday his mother had to tow him to the bathroom because his legs were tangling too much for him to do it on his own. 

Huffing quietly from the effort, John staggered to the window, unable to walk in a straight line to save his life. The most imaginative part of him pretended that he was a sailor, who had to trudge across a ship's deck in the raging storm while waves crushed all around him, making the trek a real challenge. Step by step, fighting against the merciless wind and unstable surface, John bravely marched on, finally reaching his destination. 

To his surprise, even so close to the window he couldn't really see anything. There was no branch knocking against the pane nor any traces of stones attacking the glass. And yet the noise didn't cease. John tugged the rim of the window up, and then looked down. A second later, when his brain finally processed what was in front of him, John gasped. 

“Fawnlock! What are you doing?!” he asked in disbelief, thinking that his fever must have got worse to make him hallucinate such a bizarre thing. 

His forest friend was hanging outside John's window, his long fingers clenched on the sill while his legs dangled in the air quite desperately. He must have used his antlers to knock. There was some sturdy bowl-shaped package made of leaves in his mouth, preventing him from speaking, but his eyes were articulate enough. He begged silently to be let inside because he couldn't hang there for long. A muffled forlorn bleat that left his throat only confirmed that.

“You're completely mad! What if someone had seen you?” John asked hoarsely, but offered Fawnlock his hand to help him climb up. It took only a couple of seconds for the agile creature to stand in John's room. 

The fawn looked around curiously, his jaw going slack, which resulted in the package hitting the floor, but thankfully not breaking. There were so many interesting things here that Fawnlock had never seen before. So many weird materials and shapes! So many colours and unfamiliar items! He wanted to explore it all! And something smelled really good, really fruity. However, that wasn't the only scent here. Fawnlock realised that something wasn't quite right. He sniffed ostentatiously at his friend and yelped in surprise. His scent changed. It was... blander, weird, not natural. Fawnlock knitted his eyebrows together and burrowed his nose in the scarf, which he always wore around his neck. It barely smelled like John anymore, so he couldn't really compare scents, but something was definitely wrong. He sized up his human friend. John looked tired and unfocused. What was more, he wore only one layer of clothes – unimaginable for a human! – a blue shirt and trousers littered with colourful rectangles on black circles. He didn't even have shoes or socks on! Fawnlock mewled questioningly. 

“You're lucky that my mum and my sister are out. They would make a rug out of you,” John grumbled. Not that he wasn't happy to see his friend. He was, deep down, since he was terribly bored. He just felt ill at the moment and not really in a mood for social interactions. 

The gust of wind coming from the open window made John shiver. Hugging himself and rubbing his arms repeatedly didn't help much. He sneezed, and turned around to seek refuge in his bed before he would freeze to death or extend his illness to a whole month in bed. 

Fawnlock was visibly shocked by John's behaviour. The boy wasn't his usual cheerful, inquisitive self, always ready to see something amazing in the forest and teach Fawnlock some new words in return. That was rather worrisome. He didn't want to lose his only playmate. Moosecroft didn't count because he was big and snotty. Maybe John was still upset about the bees? 

The fawn picked the package up from the floor, made sure that the leaves weren't torn and the content hadn't leaked outside, and then paced to John's nest, leaving the gift on a wooden platform right next to it. 

“Hóńęy!” he informed John rather sheepishly, trying to smile in an amiably casual way. He patted the package nervously so that the human wouldn't have any doubts what Fawnlock was talking about. “Jóhń ęąt! Yum yum!” 

“Thanks, but I don't think I'll be able to touch honey for a long time,” he replied hoarsely. He lay down on his back with his eyes closed, barely moving. That helped with his wooziness, which had worsened after his brave excursion to the window. 

Fawnlock couldn't understand why John was like that. So mean and distant! So off kilter! With a distressed whine the fawn climbed onto the bed and simply slipped under the duvet right next to his friend without any encouragement or permission. John had to admit that it felt rather nice to have him so close. Like having your own furry bedwarmer. 

“Why Jóhń ńó płąy?” he asked quietly, nuzzling his face against John's armpit, inhaling that weird not-John scent. He hoped to find a trace of John's usual smell, but to no avail. That was really unsettling. 

“I'm sick, Fawnlock. I can't leave home,” John replied with a sigh, actually feeling bad for his friend. Fawnlock must have been terribly bored alone. He knew that during the rain John never visited, but as soon as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds he came running to check on him. That was actually sweet. “But thanks for coming. I appreciate that.”

Fawnlock didn't seem to pay any more attention to what John had said. _Sick_. That was a new word and Fawnlock didn't know it. He instinctively felt that it was something bad, though. Maybe the bees caused that sick? The fawn had been bitten as well and it hurt a lot. Mummy thankfully made it better. Maybe John didn't have anyone to make it better? Fawnlock propped himself on his elbow and looked at John intently, searching for bee stings. There was one on the boy's neck – flat, pink bud not so swollen anymore. Still, proper grooming and healing had to be done to fight off the sick. Fawnlock snuggled close to his human, sticking out his tongue to lap patiently at John's neck. 

“What are you doing?” John asked, unable to stop himself from giggling silently. It tickled. A lot. 

“Fąwńlóćk hęłp. Jóhń śhut up ąńd ńót móvę,” the fawn replied firmly, though his words were almost incomprehensible, distorted not only by his strange accent, but also by his tongue's out-of-mouth activity. John had no other option really but to succumb to his friend's gentle ministrations. Having your skin licked was rather gross, but since Fawnlock was so... animalistic it was okay, he supposed. It was like when a dog licked you all over to show that it liked you. Gross, but nice. 

Fawnlock was meticulous in his healing endeavours. After he was done with the neck, he rolled John's sleeves and pyjama legs up to look for bites. He found one under John's knee and the boy chortled with amusement when the deft tongue teased his sensitive skin there. Then the fawn inspected his stomach, unceremoniously lifting the fabric of his car-infested blue pyjamas. When he found no stings there, he turned to his friend.

“Jóhń hąvę mórę bitęś?” His eyes glistened with eagerness that clearly indicated he would be happy to douse John in his saliva if only that would bring him some relief. 

The boy hesitated for a moment before admitting grudgingly, “Yeah, two on my rear, but you're _not_ gonna lick my butt.” When Fawnlock scoffed, not seeing what the big deal was, John reiterated with firmness. “No. Not gonna happen. Forget it.”

Fawnlock rolled his eyes at how weird humans were, but yielded to this odd prohibition. He decided to rest his head on John's warm stomach and rub it gently with his hand the way he himself liked it. It was very relaxing, John had to admit. 

“Jóhń ńó śićk ąńymórę? Jóhń cąń pląy?” he asked hopefully after a while, his fingers scratching lightly against the human's soft and hairless tummy. 

“No, sorry, Fawnlock. I'm still sick. I won't be able to go out and play for a long time.” There was no reason to sugar coat it. The doctor was adamant. At least two weeks at home, maybe more. He was lucky that he wasn't put into a hospital. “I need to get better first.”

The fawn made a distressed noise. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. The sick was awful, taking John from him. He wished there was something he could do to make it go away for good because his licking wasn't strong enough to beat it. A moment of intense pondering later, Fawnlock got an idea. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and draped it snugly over John's. His ears flapped happily, as he was really proud of himself. He was keeping John warm. The sick had no chance!

John on the other hand was rather baffled by the gesture. What was the point of a scarf under a duvet? He thanked his friend anyway, though, aware how much the fawn treasured that scarf. 

His display of gratitude was cut short by a vicious cough attack. John's body was racked by the waves of hacks, so strong that he thought he would spit out a lung or choke to death. 

Fawnlock was terrified. When the sick bent John in half and made him do all those horrible noises, the fawn jumped out of the bed, staring at his friend wide-eyed. He now had a better understanding what a sick was. And it was something truly awful.

Bleating in distress, Fawnlock quickly bolted to the window.

“Where... are you...” Cough. “....going? Fawn... lock,” John breathed out with difficulty, but the fawn didn't even look over his shoulder. One second he was there, the other he climbed out through the window, not even saying goodbye or taking his scarf back. 

That made John sad. Was Fawnlock afraid to get sick himself? Was he disgusted by John's illness? Maybe they weren't friends anymore because the fawn realised how frail humans really were? 

“Fine! Go! It's not like I need you or anything!” he cried out when the coughing subsided a bit. The feeling of dejection that came after didn't make him feel any better. Betrayal stung far worse than anything a bee could do. He wiped his face with a sleeve of his pyjama, trying to be brave. 

John must have dozed off for a while – he wasn't sure how long his nap lasted, but surely no longer than two hours – because when he came back to his senses, he realised that someone was sitting on his bed right beside him. Opening his eyes, he expected to see his grandma with another dosage of antibiotics, but instead he was confronted with a true sight for sore eyes. 

“Fawnlock! You're back!” he exclaimed happily, seeing the fawn. Even the 'obviously, idiot' glance Fawnlock gave him didn't chase away the boy's mirth. “I thought you didn't want to be friends with me anymore.”

“Śilly, Jóhń.” Was the reply he got, softened by a smile from the fawn. He held four leaves of different shapes and shades of green in his hand. They looked like a very unimpressive bouquet made by someone without a shred of imagination. 

“What's that?”

“Hęłp.” Without another word of explanation, Fawnlock put the leaves one by one into his mouth, chewing them over patiently. The taste must have been horrid because his face scrunched in disgust. The bitter reek from the gnashed plants only enhanced the overall impression of horribleness. John was glad that he didn't have to eat that mash himself.

His relief was premature. Once Fawnlock decided that the gooey mush sticking to his gums had a perfect consistency, he put his finger into his mouth and scooped a bit of dreadful substance. Then he offered it to John.

“No way. Nuh-uh,” the boy stated, shifting as far away as possible from the stinky threat. 

Fawnlock's mouth was full, so the only thing he could do was to groan and offer his finger once again, trying to insert it between the human's lips. For some inexplicable reason, John wasn't cooperating. In fact, he avoided the herbal mix like a plague. 

The fawn grunted impatiently, fed up with his unreasonable friend. Why did humans have to be so thick? With a long-suffering sigh, Fawnlock put the remedy back into his mouth. John visibly relaxed, lulled into a false sense of security. Good. It would make everything easier. 

The fawn pounced on his friend without warning and straddled him. With one hand he grabbed John's nose, cutting off his air, with the other he pulled the boy's jaw down. The surprise had given him a few precious seconds before John would start to struggle. Fawnlock dipped his head, pressed his lips to John's and spat all the medicine inside, helping himself with his tongue. When all of it had been transferred successfully, he closed John's jaw with a loud crash of teeth, just to make him swallow.

John's eyes were nearly popping out of his sockets and his skin turned red when he fought against the fawn to keep breathing. Kicking, thrashing and flailing his arms had little effect. He would have had more luck sparring with a wall. Nearly suffocating, he finally swallowed all the disgusting content from his mouth. The second he did that, Fawnlock released him.

John sucked in a large gulp of air, and then another. He felt sick, as if his insides were on fire. The taste in his mouth was disgusting and he could puke any moment now.

“Śórry, Jóhń.” Fawnlock had enough decency to look apologetic. “It wiłł hęłp bęąt śićk.” 

John glowered at him, trying to ignore the nausea. If the plants had poisoned him, his pneumonia suddenly wouldn't seem so bad a predicament anymore. He surely did feel as if he was envenomed with something nasty. 

“It'ś fińę, Jóhń. Śłęęp,” he said, pushing the boy down gently back onto his pillow. John didn't seem to have any strength left to oppose. There was something among those herbs that made him very sleepy. The last thing he remembered before the world went black was his friend's furry face, giving him a look full of hope. 

Fawnlock stayed there by John's side, watching over him as he slept. He ran his fingers through John's hair, he nuzzled his neck, and he rubbed his belly. All of that to help his friend fight the sick, so that they could play together again soon. 

About two hours of resting with his head on John's stomach later, Fawnlock's ears twitched. He heard something. Someone. Footsteps moving closer and closer. That was very not good. Fawnlock bleated in panic. Humans usually didn't like fawns. He had to leave fast or he'd get in real trouble! He jumped out of the bed, ran to the window, and climbed out skilfully like the world biggest and most antlered squirrel. 

“John, love, it's time for your antibiotics,” Martha said gently, opening the door carefully, balancing a tray with medicine, a glass of water, bowl of broth and some biscuits in one of her hands. She smiled, seeing her grandson asleep peacefully. A rare sight since he caught that terrible illness. She sat right next to him, putting the tray on the bedside table. She couldn't help but notice the package made of leaves. Odd. It wasn't there in the morning. She inspected it curiously, discovering that inside was honey. She smiled. Perhaps John had gathered it before and only now took it from some hidden stash. No matter. Maybe he simply needed something sweet to cheer himself up. Poor boy.

She turned her attention to her grandson, surprised that his breathing was calm and not raspy at all. His fever was gone too, as she realised when she put her hand on the boy's forehead. The antibiotics must have finally started working. 

...or not.

Traces of mud on John's duvet. The weird greenish splodges flowing down his cheeks from the corners of his mouth. The dirty scarf around his neck. The lumps of soil near the open window. The leafy package on the bedside table. Together they created a very unambiguous scenario. 

When she walked to the window and looked outside, she caught a glimpse of a brownish silhouette disappearing into the forest. She smiled warmly. 

“Well, John, it seems you're in good hands.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're awesome!
> 
> It's my birthday today, so as a gift to all the people who enjoy this story here's the next chapter! I'm sorry it's so short, but I didn't have a lot of time to write it. I hope that for Halloween I'll manage something longer.

The forest at any time of year – even in winter, though many ignorant humans thought otherwise – was never quiet. The rustling of lazy brooks, the hooting of owls, the chirping of birds, the buzzing of bees, the wind playing among the leaves, and many more sounds of life all created a unique symphony of nature. Fawnlock was used to those melodic noises, always present somewhere in the background of his life, and thus he paid them no more attention than a Londoner to traffic. 

What he wasn't used to was the hellish pounding coming from John's house. Fawnlock squatted behind the hedge, only his antlers and his big blue eyes visible from behind it, as he peered intently at the open window upstairs, which apparently was the source of the infernal cacophony. Fawnlock had never heard anything like it. Screaming, thumping, clanging, and rhythmic tapping, as if a colony of woodpeckers suddenly started to work on one tree. 

When John found him a couple of minutes later he noticed instantly how upset his friend was. Fawnlock's ears were pressed flatly to his skull, his shoulders slouched as he cowered in distress, his nostrils flared, and his fur bristled like a feral dog’s. The fawn grasped the fabric of his scarf for comfort, thankful that John had given it back a few days ago after he got better. The forest creature seemed as much terrified as he was curious about what was happening inside. 

“Hey, Fawnlock, you all right?” John asked, crouching next to him. The fawn's pupils were fixed on the house, since he didn't want to miss the appearance of the monster that was undoubtedly responsible for all of those horrible noises. There was no other explanation. 

When Fawnlock didn't respond, John put a hand on the other boy's shoulder and squeezed it lightly, offering comfort. “Hey, it's okay, don't be scared. It's just Harry. She listens to her bands as loud as possible to piss off Mum.”

“Bąńdś?” The fawn asked confusedly.

“Um, yeah. Music, you know. A couple of people that came together to play rock music.”

Now that really baffled Fawnlock. Rock music? He imagined a few humans sitting around a boulder in the middle of a room similar to John's, screaming at one another while banging their hands and feet on the rock's surface. Well, that explained the noise, though it only proved how weird the residents of the world outside the forest were. 

“Śtupid humąńś,” Fawnlock decided with an air of finality, shaking his head in a rather condescending manner. “Thąt ńó muśić,” he scoffed, almost insulted. “Ćómę Jóhń!” The fawn stood up briskly, taking John's hand into his own. 

The human boy giggled as they ran through the forest, meandering on different paths that were barely visible through a rusty carpet of October's leaves. John had no idea what was awaiting him at the end of the road, but he was excited nonetheless. Fawnlock always knew how to surprise him and show him something fun, something he had never even realised could exist within his reach. 

One of such wonders was a place where Fawnlock had taken him right now. It was a tiny pond somewhere deep in the woods, surrounded by old trees whose branches, thicker than John's chest, were twisted into ominous shapes almost like the bony hands of witches. They cast shadows over the greenish water, its calm surface covered in duckweed. Ducks themselves were curiously absent, perhaps preferring spots with more sun and wind. Or maybe they didn't enjoy the fact that the pond was littered with sizeable, moss-covered rocks. Still, John liked how peaceful the surrounding was, although it had that eerie feel about it, as if somehow it had been tainted by magic. He wouldn't be surprised if suddenly faeries emerged from the lush verdure and played a prank on him.

“Nice place,” John said, not sure himself if he was being serious or indulging in sarcasm. 

Fawnlock smiled in response, not minding his tone, and tugged on John's arm, making him sit down on the protruding root of one of the ancient trees. Then the fawn let out a strange noise, which probably wasn't even a proper word in any language, though obviously John couldn't be sure about that. It must have been some kind of spell though, because about a dozen frogs crawled from under the stones and out of blades of grass and sat down in front of the boys, their weird amphibian eyes gaping blankly at the two humanoids. 

“Wow, cool,” John decided. He had managed to catch a frog a few times in his life, but only really small specimens. The ones opposite him were huge, bigger than the boy's joined hands. Probably very heavy too. “Ribbit!” he exclaimed, wanting jokingly to communicate with the animals just as Fawnlock was doing.

The fawn didn't appreciate the attempt at interspecies conversation. He looked at his human friend in bewilderment, almost as clueless as the frogs. 

“Jóhń?” he asked, not following. 

“Oh, I just wanted to make a sound like a frog. Never mind,” he muttered a little embarrassed, suddenly feeling rather silly. 

Fawnlock shook his head for the second time that day, marvelling at the boundlessness of humans’ intellectual ineptitude.

“Śilly Jóhń. Ńó _ribbit_! _Kua_!”

As if on cue, each frog croaked once in response. John blinked at them, then at the fawn, and then once more at the creatures.

“Qa?” He did his best, but the end result was far from satisfying. The frogs started to croak all at once, making a racket that was hard to withstand. Fawnlock whistled to shut the animals up, which they promptly did. The fawn cleared his throat in a truly dramatic fashion and apparently assumed the role of a conductor. Making the 'kua' sound, he kept pointing to a frog and waited for a satisfying response. And then he proceeded to another, and another, ordering them to croak higher or lower, whatever effect he wanted to achieve. The fawn's arms moved swiftly as he controlled the melody, as if he were truly standing in front of an orchestra. The tune was an odd, light-hearted one and made John laugh. He'd never attended a gig where the main stars were a bunch of frogs, but he really liked the bizarreness of it all. 

“Thąt muśić,” Fawnlock stated with conviction once the performance had ended.

John clapped his hands enthusiastically, thankful for the auditory treat. When Fawnlock beamed at him and bowed, basking in the admiration, the boy got an idea.

“Hey, could you repeat that concert anytime soon?”

“Whąt iś ćóńćęrt?” 

“Um... The music thingy you just did with frogs.”

“Yęś. Ągąiń ńów?” he asked eagerly, his arms already back in the air. 

“No, wait a moment. I'll be right back.”

Knowing the way, John dashed to his house without getting lost. Once he'd have been really proud of that achievement, but he was becoming better and better at finding his way around in the woods. It wasn't that hard to get Harry out of her room either. John told her that grandma was looking for her, and once the girl left, he snatched what he wanted and quickly came back to the pond to a very impatient, though, intrigued fawn. John was gone maybe half an hour, but Fawnlock looked as if they hadn't seen each other for a month.

“Jóhń?”

“Yeah, I'm back. Make the frogs croak again.”

The fawn headed his friend's request without any objections. In the meantime John recorded the whole performance and set it to be Harry's new ringtone. Maybe he hadn’t asked Moosecroft to turn his sister into a frog after all, but this act of revenge was almost as good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JO4sGVyByAo  
> I love Botanicula, I love its eerie and whimsical soundtrack and it always makes me smile. I really hope that my fic made you smile as well at least once.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're awesome! Seriously, give her some love because she did an awesome job.
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, but here's the next chapter. And it's quite long, so I hope you'll like it. I already finished writing the whole story, so the next few chapters should appear soon. And they we're gonna move to The Other Teen :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Time flew by at a terrible speed and the seasons changed, regretfully. Summer was all but forgotten now, as the days got gradually shorter and more dreary. The cold drizzle became a fixture of afternoons, and pleasant sunny days, when one could fully enjoy the beauty of the forest with its falling leaves – all painted in lush hues of browns and reds – swirling playfully in the air, were almost entirely gone. John could no longer spend as much time as he wanted with Fawnlock, though he did his best to return from school quickly, sprint straight into the woods after dropping off his backpack, and do his homework only after dusk, when he had to be back or face the consequences. All in all, John truly disliked autumn. It had only one redeeming feature among all the horribleness. 

Halloween.

John liked that day. Well, that was a vast understatement. He absolutely adored it. Why shouldn't he? Nice costumes, candies for free, and lots of creepy things everywhere that couldn't really hurt him despite their scary appearances. Maybe the whole village wasn't dripping with pumpkins and skeletons as was customary in America, at least judging from the images he saw on the telly, but it was enough that all the kids at school were really excited about the oncoming celebration and had convinced their families to take part in the freaky holiday. John's peers hardly talked about anything else and their eagerness was infectious. The contagion spread quickly within the community. After what seemed like ages, the much-anticipated date finally arrived.

“I'm gonna be a werewolf tonight, you know, ” John said proudly, not caring that he had rambled for the last ten minutes about a topic the other boy was completely clueless about. Excited people were usually inconsiderate like that. “My Gran helped me with a costume.” 

He and Fawnlock were resting on the grass after playing some unorthodox variation of football in the Watson's garden. John's mum was at work, as usual, and Harry, also as usual, was at her friend's house, getting ready for yet another party. Halloween or not, every pretext was good for her to hang out with her shady clique. John neither liked nor trusted her friends.

“Whąt iś węręwółf?” Fawnlock asked, adjusting his scarf. The ruff around his neck was getting thicker, sticking out more as the frost approached. He had to fix the blue fabric all the time so as not to lose it or strangle himself to death. 

“Hm, well, it's a magical creature. A bit like you, really. Kind of, anyway. But it's a human that changes into a big wolf when there is a full moon.”

“Óh! Wilkołak!” Fawnlock exclaimed with a smile. It seemed that the fawns were familiar with the concept of wolf-men. That was rather worrying, honestly. John would very much prefer if werewolves were just creatures of legends and not a real thing. Unaware of his companion's chilly thoughts, the forest boy laughed as if he had just thought of something hilarious. “Węręjóhń!”

The corners of John's lips tilted upwards and he chuckled. “Yup, that'll be me. Very scary Werejohn.”

"Jóhń ńó śćąry." He glanced at him doubtfully. 

"Ha! You'll be surprised how scary I can be!"

That seemed to intrigue the forest boy.“Wąńńą śęę Węręjóhń!” 

“Huh? You want to see my costume?”

The enthusiastic nods of an antlered-head were a very straightforward answer. John had a moment of hesitation, but it was rather short-lived. Why not? His grandma didn't mind Fawnlock and the rest of his family was out, so their secret was safe. 

“Okay. Come on then!” John sprang to his feet and offered his arm to the fawn. The other boy didn't seem to need further encouragements. He grabbed John's hand with remarkable strength and heaved himself up in a matter of seconds. John led him decidedly towards the back door, prattling on about how he'd be giving people a fright in his costume the whole evening. Unexpectedly, when he was about to step over the threshold, the fawn dug his heels in and refused to budge. 

“What's wrong?” John asked, turning around to face his friend with a confused frown. 

Fawnlock bleated something in his own language while shaking his head fiercely. 

“I thought you wanted to come inside?”

“Wąńt!” the fawn insisted, tapping his foot impatiently. He pouted, obviously irritated that the human yet again proved to be so obtuse. To give his thick friend some idea of what was going on, he pointed to the door in an almost accusatory fashion, as if it had burgled his lair and kidnapped his brother. Though maybe that last misdeed wouldn't be judged too harshly. 

John stared at the door for a while, blinking in bafflement when a hypothesis finally started to form in his mind. “You're afraid to come inside through the door?”

Fawnlock huffed, as if even the thought of him experiencing fear of anything, especially something made by humans, was beyond ridiculous. “Ńó ąfrąid, Jóhń! Ńót wąńńą!” he specified. 

John sighed, rubbing his temple. Fawnlock was so stubborn that no force in the universe could possibly make him change his mind. Arguing with him was absolutely pointless. Maybe he simply felt safer not coming into the centre of the house? Who knew with fawns. “Okay, fine. You can climb through the window,” he said. Fawnlock's happy mewl told him that the fawn had got exactly what he wanted. As usual. “Just don't give my Gran a heart attack while you're at it.”

Fawnlock creased his forehead and gave his friend a truly befuddled look. “Ńó ąttąćk grąń hęąrt!” He sounded truly horrified that John could even think that he was capable of such an atrocity. After all, why would he attack Gran? She was nice to him, fixed his leg and gave him yummy brown liquid and apples. He wouldn't want to hurt her. 

John giggled at him. “Oh, never mind. Just be careful, okay?”

Nodding, Fawnlock asked, “Jóhń ńó ćłimb?” 

“Nope. I'm perfectly fine using doors and stairs, thank you.”

Fawnlock shrugged. Then a rather mischievous smile appeared on his face. “Fąwńlóćk firśt!” he squealed, running to the side of the house. John understood instantly what his friend wanted to achieve.

“Oh no, you won't!” he yelled back. He ran inside like a whirlwind, laughing all the way to his room. 

His Grandma, who reclined on the sofa while reading a book, looked up from the page, when she heard loud stomps on the steps. Perhaps she should have shouted after her grandson to be careful, but she knew how little effect that would have. Children were deaf to any scoldings when they were playing. Martha simply smiled to herself and got back to reading. 

When John threw his door open, Fawnlock was already inside, sitting on John's bed, bouncing on the mattress as if it was a trampoline. 

“No!” John gasped in shock and unwilling admiration. “That's impossible! How did you do it so quickly?!”

Fawnlock only grinned in response. John had to accept that his friend was either exceptionally agile and skilled at climbing, or he had somehow helped himself with magic. Whatever the cause, the feat he had achieved was rather impressive. He probably broke the world record in wall climbing. 

“Węręjóhń śhów!” he demanded with a particularly lively jump that nearly cost him his balance. 

“Okay, I will. You can't look, though.” John wagged his finger threateningly. “That will ruin the surprise. Put your hands over your eyes.”

Fawnlock did as instructed – he pressed his hands to his eyes, leaving huge gaps between his fingers to see perfectly well what was happening all around him. 

John gave him a blatant 'are you even serious' look. “You know, Fawnlock, the whole point of having your eyes covered is to not see anything...” 

The fawn bleated innocently, though the impish glint in his eyes was evidence that he was messing with his friend on purpose. 

John rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just turn around. I'll tell you when you can watch. Okay?” 

Fawnlock nodded, his curiosity to see the costume overshadowing his naughtiness. He was a bit overzealous in fulfilling John's request. Instead of simply facing the headboard and averting his eyes from John, he threw himself prostrate at the bed and then rolled across the mattress, grabbing the duvet and wrapping himself completely in it. Lying on his side with his legs drawn up and only his hair and antlers sticking out, he reminded John of some big bug in a cocoon. 

The human boy sighed, trying not to think about sleeping among dirty sheets. Some things simply couldn't be avoided when you picked a forest dweller to be your best friend. Resigned to his fate, John decided to don his costume without further ado. He had planned the big reveal somewhere later in the evening, but since it was already Halloween, it was okay no matter the time, he guessed.

He opened his wardrobe. At the bottom of it, right under his hoodies and trousers, lay his costume. With a furtive peek at the bed to make sure that Fawnlock wasn't looking, John quickly put it on with a grunt or two. 

“Okay, you can look now!” 

The fawn somehow extricated himself from the duvet and instantly looked up at his friend with full attention. The forest boy gasped in awe bordering on shock. 

“What do you think? Do you like it?” John asked, turning around to show himself to Fawnlock from every angle.

John's costume was made out of an old pair of trousers and a hoodie, now dyed silver. Honestly, it probably didn't look too impressive, objectively speaking, but he and Grandma had worked really hard on it. The paws were sown to the trousers' hem and even resembled that of a wolf if the beholder was sympathetic. The thing John was really proud of was the tail. Probably fluffier than the real one should be, but it looked cool anyway, even if it dangled behind him rather pitifully. And of course, the disguise wouldn't have been complete without a silver mask with painted whiskers covering John's face from his forehead to his nose.

“Węręjóhń!” Fawnlock said cheery, sliding off the bed. He reached his hand to John's tail and moved it up and down, feeling the softness of the fabric. John having fur must have been something truly fascinating to him. “Why Jóhń wółf?”

“Hm, I don't really know. Werewolves are cool, I think, and I had to pick something nice. After all, I'm gonna walk around the village in this costume and get candies!” 

The fawns eyes lit up at the mention of possible sugar goodies. 

“Fąwńłóćk wąńńą gó gęt ćąńdięś!”

John shook his head. “No, you can't! You don't even have a costume,” he protested.

Fawnlock pouted, clearly miffed that John dared to forbid him something. 

“Fawnlock, please, understand, it's for–” He trailed off and slapped himself on the forehead, causing his forest friend to raise his eyebrows questioningly. John couldn't believe how stupid he was. “I'm super dumb, Fawnlock. I mean, of course you can come. Everyone will think that you're dressed up anyway!”

Fawnlock beamed, ecstatic with the sudden turn of events. He got what he wanted, and that was how the world should work. He even twirled around happily, doing a small, wiggly victory dance. 

“John, love, do you know where my–” Martha clammed up as she entered her grandson's bedroom and her eyes met the fawn's. “Oh, Fawnlock. Hello, dear. I didn't see you come in.”

The fawn grinned, pointing proudly to the window, as if to show that his way of entering the building was much more efficient and stealthy than the front door. The grandmother preferred not to comment on it, just as she pointedly ignored the smudges of mud on the carpet. Her daughter would most likely be upset, but Martha had lived long enough to realise that not everything was worth kicking up a fuss. 

“Well, boys, what are you up to?” she asked.

“I showed Fawnlock my costume!” John announced proudly, even though it was rather self-evident, as he was still wearing it. “And he liked it!”

“That's wonderful, dear.”

Apparently, the fawn didn't want to be excluded from the conversation, especially after he heard his name. 

“Fąwńlóćk gó Hąłłówęęń! Fąwńlóćk wąńt ćąńdięś!” he demanded, quickly betraying his real intent. Not a shocking surprise from a glutton with the biggest sweet tooth John had ever seen.

When Martha glanced at her grandson, the boy presented a perfect rendition of puppy eyes. Apparently he was armed in cuteness. The youngest Watson seemed to be all for this crazy plan. 

“John, love...”

“I mean, he already has a costume, right? Well, sort of. Anyway, it's a good idea!”

“But John...”

“But Gran!”

“Grąń!”

Mrs Harper sighed. She couldn't defend herself from the combined forces of two eager pre-Halloween children, let alone win against them. Still, there were issues she needed to address. 

“You know that it can be dangerous for Fawnlock to go trick-or-treating?” she warned. Even considering that night's standards, the fawn's 'costume' was just a little too good. She knew how people's mentalities worked and she was afraid that the villagers might turn against the little forest boy as soon as they began to suspect that he didn't exactly belong to the human race. 

“He'll be fine, Gran! I'll be with him and I'll watch over him. Please, Gran! He doesn't have anything like this in the forest!” John argued, supported by pleading 'Grąń' whines in the background. 

The grandmother's voice of reason simply couldn't be heard anymore in that commotion. 

“All right,” she agreed finally, hoping that she later wouldn't regret having such a soft heart. “But on one condition.”

It took all of John's willpower and good manners not to roll his eyes. “I'll be careful, I promise.”

“Of course you will, you're a smart boy. But there's something else. We need to prepare an appropriate disguise for your friend.”

John seemed rather confused, but Fawnlock, once he understood what the woman meant, squealed happily and clapped his hands, overjoyed at the prospect of having a human costume for himself. 

“We don't have much time, so we have to improvise,” Martha said. She told the boys to follow her to the living room. They did so without question, Fawnlock even skipping in the process, since he couldn't contain his joy. John envied him – the fawn could jump up and down the stairs without making even the tiniest sound. If John attempted a similar feat the whole house would most likely shake to the foundations. The boy was actually surprised that Fawnlock didn't run off. He seemed so excited that he had completely forgotten about his distrust of the rest of John's home. The promise of fun and candies seemed to have helped him overcome his anxieties.

Once in the living room, the grandma told the boys to wait on the couch and then disappeared. Fawnlock couldn't sit still. He bounced on the mattress so hard that it almost caused John to fall off. The human boy smacked his friend with a cushion in retaliation. When Grandma returned there was a full blown pillow war raging on.

“Oi, you two rascals. Behave! Or you're gonna spend Halloween locked in the cellar.”

The boys grudgingly obeyed, though not without a last pillow punch each for good measure. Then John actually looked at his guardian and noticed an old but clean sheet and scissors in her hands. Before he could ask a question, she provided an explanation, as if reading his mind. 

“We're gonna turn your friend into a very special ghost...”

The boys spoke in unison.

“What kind of ghost?”

“Ghóśt?”

“You'll see...” She smiled enigmatically, opening and closing the scissors to create the appropriately creepy mood. If John hadn't known her well he might have been a little freaked out. 

The next couple of minutes were well spent on turning the little fawn into a proper Halloween participant. Fawnlock stood ramrod straight and uncharacteristically motionless, patiently enduring Mrs Harper's doings. He must have been really keen on seeing this through. John tried to help as much as he could. When his grandma asked him to hold, or press, or fold the fabric, he did it at once without any protest. Grandma's words were like law at the moment. John felt as if he was a nurse assisting a doctor – Grandma – in performing some kind of super hard surgery. 

The joint effort soon brought about the desired effect. Grandma steered the fawn gently towards the mirror in the hall. For the first time since they started Fawnlock was able to see himself in all his glory. For a moment John thought that the forest boy would freak out at the sight of a twin image, but he had underestimated him. Fawnlock was of course familiar with the concept of reflections, since he had glanced at himself on water surfaces more times than he could count. Maybe he hadn't seen a proper mirror before, but he knew how it worked.

The fawn admired the costume for a long while, his eyes glistening. Honestly, not much aside from his eyes was visible. A sheet was thrown over his whole frame, reaching almost all the way to the ground, leaving only an inch of space. Small holes were cut out in the fabric so the boy could see and another set of holes were on top of his head to free his antlers. There were no holes for his arms, to maintain secrecy. Hidden like that he didn't look much like a fawn. He could pass for a human if someone squinted. While wearing a blindfold. Preferably in a dark room. 

“Behold the first ever costume of the ghost of a wendigo,” Grandma said, smiling proudly, since Fawnlock seemed to like the outfit. 

“What's a wendigo?” John asked. He'd never heard that word before. And when it came to new words he liked them nearly as much as Fawnlock did. 

“Well, it's a kind of mons... creature,” she corrected herself quickly, not wanting to offend Fawnlock. “Some people believe that it looks a bit like your friend, antlers included.” As she said it, she wondered if perhaps one of Fawnlock's ancestors was the reason why the legend about wendigos had even started. She just hoped, for John's sake, that the stories about the beast's cruelty and ferocity were made up. 

“Ghóśt Węńdigó.” Fawnlock hopped in excitement and twirled around, making the sheet flare as if it was a dress. After such display of joy he needed to adjust the scarf again because nothing could make him part with it, even making the costume. He naturally kept it under the sheet. “Fąwńlóćk ghóśt węńdigó!”

“That's right. You look great.” John smiled at his friend, glad to see him in such good spirits. It was exciting that soon they could go together to the village and collect more candies than they could eat for a week. Well, in John's case at least. Knowing Fawnlock, that furry ball of stubbornness would eat everything at once, wrappers included, and then complain about tummy ache for the rest of the night. Some things simply couldn't be prevented, he supposed. 

Suddenly, Fawnlock's ears twitched under the sheet. The boy sniffed loudly a few times and then stiffened completely, like a deer in the headlights. John understood instantly that something was amiss. Before he could ask what was wrong, a catastrophe occurred. The front door opened and John's mother came inside. 

“It's quite warm today, ” she stated, hanging up her coat. “A good day for Halloween,”. The bottle-green blouse and well-tailored jeans that she wore that day, coupled with the big smile on her face, made her look a few years younger, despite the prominent bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. 

_She was supposed to stay late at the clinic!_ John thought with growing panic. Why did she come home earlier? Her shift ended quicker? Someone replaced her? There were no patients? Whatever the reason, her homecoming was very ill-timed. John searched for some life-saving scenario that could help distract her enough for Grandma to get Fawnlock away from here. But it was too late. John's mother noticed the small human silhouette under the sheet and slowly approached him. John was only thankful that the hall didn't get as much light as the living room.

“Hello there,” she greeted the stranger amiably, even bending down to be on the same level as the child. “Are you John's new friend? I'm his Mum.” She seemed happy that her son had finally brought someone home. It worried her that John was a loner, spending all his free time in that cursed forest. Maybe finally he had found someone with whom he'd be able to share less dangerous adventures. 

“Hęłłó thęrę...” Fawnlock echoed timidly, swaying with uneasiness on the balls of his feet. He exuded nervousness. He wasn't used to dealing with humans other than John and his grandmother. 

Hearing the boy's weird accent, Mrs Watson looked surprised. She was about to ask some questions, which would probably make Fawnlock even more nervous, but John took it as a cue to jump in and save the day. 

“Um, Mum, he doesn't speak English well. He's still learning.” At least that wasn't a lie. 

“Oh, you're an immigrant?” She didn't seem bothered by it. If anything, she only became more curious about the mysterious boy. She talked slower, pronouncing the words with more care. “Welcome to England then! I hope you like it here in our small village. Where are you from?”

Fawnlock was confused. He didn't know what an immigrant was or what England was. So many things he didn't know and that made him quite upset. Despite the fact that the woman spoke clearly, he didn't understand her too well. John saved the day once again, providing an answer before Fawnlock had the chance to really complicate things. 

“He's from... um, Poland,” he said, supplying the first country with impossible language that came to his mind. He'd heard some time ago on the telly that a lot of Poles came to the UK to work, so maybe his Mum would believe in that possibility. 

“Oh. I see. What's his name?” she asked, addressing John, since the little ghost boy with quite impressive antlers seemed rather shy. 

“His name is... Sherlock, ” he blurted out. He had no idea how he had even come up with that name. His only concern was not to say 'Fawnlock', since that would be too weird, but a slight variation seemed like a good idea. His mum swallowed the lie without any hiccup. 

“You're really eager for Halloween, aren't you? It's not even dark yet and you're both in your costumes already!” she teased. 

“Sherlock came to show his costume to John and they both decided to try them on and see how they will match tonight,” Grandma chimed in, adding credibility to John's fibs. For that, John was extremely grateful. 

“Well, I think they look great together,” the mother declared. She came to John and placed a kiss on his cheek. The boy mumbled something defiantly, not wanting to be treated like a kid in front of his friend, but Mrs Watson only laughed. “I just came home to grab something to eat. I'm fed up with food in the cafeteria. Boy, the doctors try to treat the patients, but the cooks aim to kill them.”

“Not much has changed since my time, then,” the grandma said. She smiled and started walking towards the kitchen. “Come here, dear. I'm gonna fix you something. Maybe that spaghetti you like so much, it takes just a couple of minutes to make. Let's leave the boys to play.”

Mrs Watson seemed to have been bribed by her mother's cooking. She wished both of them a lot of fun and then made a beeline for the kitchen and the meal she was promised. When the women disappeared, John grabbed Fawnlock's hand through the sheet and dragged him upstairs back to his room. 

“Wow, that was close!” He heaved a sigh of relief as he shut the door after himself. Good thing that his mum was in a hurry. If she decided to get to know John's new friend a little better they would be in trouble. 

“Whąt ćlóśę?” Fawnlock asked, confused. 

“My mum. She can't know who you really are. She'd probably forbid us from playing together.”

Now that really baffled Fawnlock. “Why ńó płąy? Mum ńó łikę Fąwńlóćk?”

John didn't really know what to say. These issues were always hard to explain. 

“No, it's not like that... She likes you. At least as long as she thinks you're a human.” 

Fawnlock tilted his head, which made him look like the ghost of incomprehension present. After a moment of deep pondering he issued his verdict. 

“Śtupid.”

“Yeah, I know,” John agreed with a chuckle. “Doesn't matter. I'm gonna tell you now where we're gonna go first to get candies!” he said. Then he reached into his drawer and pulled out a home-made map of the entire area. Like a general briefing his aides before battle, John familiarised his friend with the strategy for the night, hoping that it would bring them sweet victory, free of any incidents. 

* * *

People in the village weren't as crazed about Halloween as their counterparts on the other side of the pond, but everyone worked really hard to make that day special for their kids. On every lawn one could see various decorations – fairy lights, carved pumpkins with a candle inside, plastic skeletons, and many more objects that were more funny than spooky. John's house was no exception. Along the path to the main door shone a trail of grinning pumpkin faces, which the boy and his grandma – well, mainly her – prepared a day before. While they strode towards the gate, Fawnlock seemed absolutely fascinated by them. Maybe even a little too much. John had to give him a loud scolding for an attempt to eat one. In response the fawn sulked a bit under his sheet, turning into one very grumpy ghost, but his mood improved significantly when John promised him that in the morning all of them would be his to munch on. 

“Okay, a few rules before we go any further,” John stated firmly, stopping right before the gate. He looked intently at Fawnlock to show him that this was serious and he needed him to focus. They had discussed it before at home, but the fawn needed some reminding just in case. “Firstly, you need to stay close to me. No matter what, don't go anywhere without me. Secondly, don't speak to anyone. Let me do the talking. Thirdly, don't even think about taking your costume off. Treat it like your second skin. Hm, I guess those are the basics. I hope I don't have to tell you that stealing candies from other people or doing magic is absolutely forbidden.” 

Fawnlock mumbled something along the lines of 'śtupid humąńś', which proved that he at least paid enough attention to grumble at the human race. John saw that as a small success. 

“Right. If you don't have any questions I think we can go now.”

“Gó!” he whined impatiently. 

John simply smiled and they set out on an adventure. 

There were quite a lot of people in the streets, all dressed up as monsters, superheroes, or characters from animated movies, so it was relatively easy to blend in. Just to be sure, John tried to avoid bright spots of light provided by lampposts, preferring to stick to the semi-darkness of an early evening. It was for the best if people couldn't take a good look at Fawnlock, so they kept their distance from others.. John noticed a few kids he knew from school, but pretended not to see them. He could always lie later, saying that a cousin visited him, and his Mum ordered him to take care of him so they collected sweets together. John had never been very good at lying because he always considered it to be something bad, but since he met Fawnlock he'd kept developing that skill almost every day. He wasn't entirely sure if that was something to be pleased about. 

Finally, they found themselves on the porch of old Mrs Bailey. She was a good person, one of Grandma's friends, and – what was incredibly important today – her sight was rather bad. She wore big and thick glasses, which made her look a bit like an owl. Still, she had a big heart and every year gave sweets away generously. John visited her a few times with his Grandma. He liked her well enough. It was odd, but old ladies were either the sweetest people ever or the meanest old hags that ever walked the earth. There was no in between. He was glad that she belonged to the first group. He knocked on the door confidently, thinking that it was the perfect place to start.

“Trick or treat!” he exclaimed when the woman appeared on the doorstep, shaking the bag he'd brought with them.

“Oh, hello, John! My, my, what a scary costume you have! And so does your friend. Here, you deserve something nice,” she said. She took two handfuls of candy from a bowl and dropped them inside the bag. 

John thanked her and told Fawnlock that they should go now. So far his forest friend had behaved impeccably. John was frankly quite pleasantly surprised. No moaning, no running off, no talking. However, as soon as that thought died away in the boy's mind and they reached the street again, Fawnlock bleated to him urgently. 

“What?” John turned to him, but not before making sure that no one else was within earshot of their conversation. 

“Fąwńlóćk wąńt ćąńdy!”

“We're gonna eat them later.”

The fawn stomped his foot as a sign of protest and made another sound of discord. John rolled his eyes. He could either try to persuade his friend to listen to him, which would take a lot of time without any guarantee of success, or he could just yield and fulfil his request. In the end, John decided on the latter option. 

“Okay, fine! But just one now. Don't even try to ask for more.”

Fawnlock snorted and mumbled something that the fabric muffled, which was probably for the best. In the end, he nodded his assent, though John predicted that the fawn would demand another treat very soon despite that assurance. Some things just wouldn't change. With a sigh, John reached inside the bag, chose one candy at random, removed the wrapper, not wanting to risk Fawnlock actually devouring it as well, and then lifted the sheet just enough to place the chocolate sphere right into his friend's furry hand. The fawn didn't waste any time. In a heartbeat he stuck the treat eagerly into his mouth and let out a lot of happy munching sounds. John couldn't help but chuckle.

“Satisfied? Can we go now and visit the rest of the houses?” he asked amusedly. The fawn's willingness to cooperate increased tenfold with the lump of sugar delicacy in his stomach. He nodded again and followed John obediently like a little duckling. Somehow John was reminded of that movie about training dragons. Training fawns seemed to be an equally challenging task. Thank goodness that both species were so easy to bribe with food. 

John took Fawnlock to visit every house on the main street. After each stop John fed his friend discreetly with a candy to avoid any complications. In less than two hours their bag was half-filled with the trophies of Halloween, even if Fawnlock seemed bent on depleting their loot. John glanced at his watch. He had tried to argue with his grandma that it didn't fit his werewolf costume, but she stayed adamant. She wouldn't let John out without it, so the boy left it in peace. Perhaps he was simply a modern werewolf. It was getting quite late, almost nine o'clock, so it was time to head back. 

“We're just gonna check that alley – it only has five houses, so we'll be quick – and then we're going home or else my family will start worrying. Is that okay?” 

“Yęś...” Fawnlock replied in a heartbreaking tone. It seemed he didn't want to go back, as he enjoyed walking around humans and getting free candies for that. John smiled at him to cheer him up. 

“Hey, we can do this next year too if you want,” John proposed. That seemed to improve the fawn's mood a little bit. 

They turned the corner, only to see a group of three teens gathered around the rubbish bin. They seemed to be Harry's age, maybe a year or two older, and wore expensive clothes deliberately torn in several places. Typical rebellious kids and bullies with rich parents, thinking that they owned the neighbourhood. Bad news, generally. Unfortunately the village had a couple of delinquents like that. John recognised the leader of the gang from school, who casually dropped his cigarette butt on the pavement and stepped on it. The rest of the gang was unfamiliar, but the expression on their faces wasn't really friendly. 

“Hey, bairns, what do you have in that bag of yours?” the leader asked, smiling at them like a shark that smelled blood in the water.

“You must be pretty daft to ask that question on Halloween night,” John shot back. He probably should have just ignored them, but he couldn't stand these kind of people. 

Fawnlock giggled, standing shoulder to shoulder with John, but the teens didn't seem amused. 

“I guess it's time we teach you some manners, boy!” the leader of the gang muttered. The three of them started to approach the children. 

John immediately regretted angering them. They were bigger, knew how to fight, and there were three of them. Odds were in their favour. Trying to run away would be pointless, as they were obviously faster. Of course, John could try to shout for help and hope that some adult was nearby. That wouldn't do, though. John wasn't a coward. The boy thought desperately what to do. In the end, he decided that the best course of action would be too attack them first, taking them by surprise. That would give Fawnlock a few precious seconds to skedaddle to safety. John wouldn't avoid severe pummelling, but if that meant protecting a friend, it was a price he was willing to pay. 

John tightened his grip on the candy bag, ready to use it as a weapon. He bent his knees just a little, preparing to lurch forward at the assailants. 

Before he was able to execute his plan, a pumpkin smashed right into the gang leader's head with a loud splash, adorning him with wax and pulp. The teens stopped dead in their tracks. The leader, dizzy from the impact, looked around to see who dared to pull a stunt like that. The alley was empty though. Empty... aside from several pumpkins levitating above the lawn of a nearby house. The pumpkin's mysterious grins suddenly seemed much more sinister.

“What the...” started one of the teens, but the pumpkin missile that collided with his forehead made him shut up with spectacular success. They didn't wait for any more attacks. All three of them let out a blood-curdling screams and ran away as fast as they could. 

As soon as they disappeared from sight, John burst out laughing and turned around to his antlered friend, who was grinning under the sheet.

“Fąwńlóćk uśę mągić. Śórry,” he said, though the tone of his voice resembled more a smug 'sorry not sorry' comment. At this moment, John didn't really mind. 

“Well, you saved us. And they can use some good fright, maybe they'll be nicer from now on. I can't be mad for that.” He patted his friend on the shoulder to congratulate him for his good work. “No one will believe them anyway. People will think that they were drunk or on drugs. Maybe the guys themselves will start thinking the same after a while."

“Mórę ćąńdięś!” Sherlock decided, pointing to the house, now lacking two pumpkins on the grass. 

“Okay, okay,” John agreed, shaking his head. Food was the biggest motivator of Fawnlock's life, apparently. “Let's go.”

Visiting the houses on the short street took them less than fifteen minutes, but the encounter with the aggressive teens had made them lose precious time. John insisted that they should head home immediately. 

Fawnlock wasn't that much in a hurry, to be honest. Having eaten his fair share of sweets already, he felt content as he looked around the village, glancing at homes and different streets. It was a rare opportunity for a fawn to be able to see so many wonders. Some absolutely fantastic and nonsensical stories circulated around the forest about, for example, loud beasts made of metal, which swallowed humans, and then moved around while producing a lot of stinky fumes, only to spit out the humans later. It turned out to be partly true. Fawnlock noticed the metal beasts everywhere and was very careful around them. They seemed to be asleep and waking them up didn't seem like the best of ideas. Still, Fawnlock wouldn't be himself if he didn't try to learn as much as he could, given the opportunity.

“Jóhń, wąit!” 

“What?” John asked, but stopped on the pavement, just like his friend requested. He observed in bafflement how Fawnlock squatted right next to a silver Honda Civic and sniffed at the tyres. “What are you doing?”

Fawnlock didn't reply. He moved to the back and checked the exhaust pipe, wincing and huffing in disgust even with the sheet protecting his nose. The beast really did smell horrible. Then he examined the bumper and the licence plate, wondering what those weird symbols meant. Perhaps it was the beast's name and one had to speak it aloud to wake it. Or maybe once the human vocalised the beast's name it had to spit them out. Fawnlock smiled to himself, glad that he had it all figured out. Mycroft surely wouldn't be as smart in his place.

“Fawnlock, really. It's just a car, let's go home!” John was getting impatient. His hand tapping on his hip was a testament to that. 

The fawn pretended not to hear any nagging. He had to know more. He stood up and walked to the front. Carefully, he pressed his nose against the glass and peeked inside. There were so many things in the beast's belly that he couldn't even name most of them. A strange wheel, comfy-looking armchairs, some levers. The fawn stood on his tiptoes to see everything better. Unfortunately, in his eagerness, and lulled by the false sense of safety, he forgot to be careful. He forgot that the beast was dangerous and shouldn't be trifled with.

When the fawn's antlers knocked on the glass, pandemonium broke out. The lights of the beast came alive and it let out a long, wailing noise of anger. Fawnlock yelped and sprinted towards John, hiding behind the boy's frame and peeking over his shoulder at the raging predator with his huge, terrified eyes. 

"Bęąśt!" he gasped. John sighed inwardly. He should have predicted that it would end up like this.

“Oh, come on. It's just an alarm,” he said, trying to calm his friend down. Even through the sheet and the layer of his own clothes he could feel that every strand of fur on Fawnlock's body had bristled up. “It's okay, it won't hurt you.” The fawn didn't seem convinced. Not at all. John wanted to go on and show him that the car didn't pose any threat despite producing such hellish noise, but the noise itself was the reason why he decided against it. He reached to his friend and grabbed his hand through the fabric. “Let's go. The owner will be here in a moment and they'll surely be mad.” 

Fawnlock was more than happy to finally go home. He sprinted next to John, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket, trying to drag him away from the blaring alarm faster. John had a faint hope that this misadventure would teach his forest friend to be more careful around humans' stuff. Though, honestly, that was just wishful thinking.

A few minutes later they were back in John's garden. At this hour his mum was surely home. He wasn't so sure about Harry. Maybe she wouldn't come home till morning. Who knew with her. Anyway, it would be too risky to try and bring Fawnlock inside. 

“I'm late already, they'll be mad. Let's divide the candies now, okay?” he said.

At the mention of sweets, the fawn brightened up. It was easy to be brave again this far away from the beast.

“Yęś!”

“Wait, you'll need something to carry it with you,” John pointed out. He could give the bag to Fawnlock, but then his mum would want to know what had happened to it. It was safer if he just brought it home. John had an idea. Since the secrecy wasn't important anymore, he helped Fawnlock take off the sheet. The fawn protested a bit, as he apparently had grown fond of his disguise, but when John explained that he could carry candies in the sheet, that changed everything. They both folded it so that it formed a primitive sack, and then John poured out half the candies into it. If he wanted to be fair, he should have given Fawnlock less, since the forest boy ate a lot on his way here, but John wasn't like that. He divided the remaining loot in more or less equal parts. 

“It was fun, yeah?” he asked with a smile once everything was done. They could both gorge themselves now on chocolates joyfully.

“Yęąh,” Fawnlock agreed. “Thąńkś Jóhń.”

“My pleasure,” he answered genuinely. “And try not to eat all the candies at once, okay? And never with wrappers or you will get sick!”

Fawnlock scoffed as if even hearing such an obvious thing was insulting to him. It should be attributed only to the sheer amount of chocolate happiness in his arms that he didn't call his friend silly or worse.

“Śęę Jóhń łątęr?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Later being tomorrow or the day after most likely, as long as the weather would be nice. John wondered how Fawnlock's family would react to the four pounds of sweets the boy would bring with him. Would they ask the fawn to throw it away? Well, John would like to see them try. Maybe they would rather try them for themselves? If Fawnlock was in a sharing mood, that could work. Parting with food didn't come easy to him. 

John waved his friend goodbye and then went inside the house. Just as he predicted, his mum and his grandma weren't too happy about his tardiness. Thankfully, apologies were enough to placate them and he didn't end up grounded. Harry was still out, but she had called some time ago, so everything was fine. John gave his family a generous offering of the sweets he had brought and the verdict was unanimous – the candies were delicious. He left the bag in the kitchen, pleading that they didn't actually eat everything. Having something for tomorrow would be nice. Then he went to his room, washed himself quickly, brushed his teeth so that he wouldn't get cavities from all the sugar he had consumed and then slid under his duvet, relaxing. After such an adventurous day he was so exhausted that he was deeply asleep in a matter of seconds. 

Rest wasn't what he'd get that night, though. He couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when he felt someone's hand touching his shoulder and shaking him with gusto. 

“Mhm, what?” he mumbled, lifting his head. Through his parted eyelids he noticed a familiar, antlered silhouette. In his groggy state it took him a while to process who that could be. “Fawnlock? What... what are you doing here? How did you get in?” He turned his head to glance at the window ajar. He was pretty sure that it was locked when he got to bed. Fawnlock must have learnt how to prise it open from the outside. What a sly creature. That or he simply helped himself with magic, as he seemed to be more and more versed in the art of casting spells. 

“Jóhń, ćómę!” Fawnlock urged him.

“Come where? Why?” John wasn't very keen on leaving his bed for whatever reason. He needed to sleep. And with the window agape, the temperature in the room had dropped drastically, so John was quite fine under the duvet, thank you very much. He even covered himself more, only a few strands of blond hair sticking out from under it. 

The fawn let out an exasperated sigh, as if he was one hundred per cent done dealing with infuriatingly stubborn little human boys. Cutting the explanation to the minimum, he muttered, “Fąwń Hąłłówęęń! Ćómę, Jóhń! Ńó łątę!”

Despite his exhaustion, John would be lying if he said that he wasn't even a tiny bit intrigued by Fawnlock's words. He had no idea that his friend's kind celebrated Halloween. Or celebrated anything at all, to be honest. What would it even look like? Somehow the boy doubted that candies and grinning pumpkins would be involved. Then a very unsettling thought appeared in his mind. What if they practised human sacrifice and John would be the main course for whatever gods they worshipped? 

John dismissed that concern in a heartbeat. Just because fawns lived in the forest, that didn't make them cruel savages. Fawnlock's mother was quite nice – when she wasn't furious – and his brother was... well, okayish. Sure, they both could be super scary if they wanted, but generally they weren't that bad. And surely Fawnlock wouldn't let anyone harm him. 

“Would the... others be okay with me being there?” he asked. Fawns weren't the most open and welcoming species, as far as he knew. John didn't want to intrude. Fawnlock waved his friend's concern off as if that wasn't an issue at all.

“Jóhń ókąy. Ćómę, Jóhń! Śtąrt śóóń!” he told him, ripping the duvet off the uncooperative boy and throwing it casually to the floor. John now had two options – he could either freeze to death in his own bed or he could actually get dressed and see something that surely not many people had a chance to witness, if any. The choice wasn't really difficult.

“Okay. I'll go. Just give me some time to put on my clothes, yeah? It's really cold outside. And thanks to you – inside as well,” the boy commented, giving him a meaningful look. The fawn seemed to be immune to them. He only huffed impatiently. The lack of proper fur on humans was something truly lamentable. They were never ready when something interesting was going on. 

* * *

A couple of minutes later, when John had put on his body as many layers as possible to combat the chill of the night, they both entered the forest. Using the door to get out was too risky, since his mum or his grandma could have caught him sneaking out, so for the first time John had to use Fawnlock's evacuation route. Climbing out through the window definitely wasn't an easy task. John would surely have fallen down if it weren't for his more agile forest friend, who saved him from tumbling down from the window sill. While being towed down to safety, he had to listen to Fawnlock's condescending grunts. He probably considered this more proof that humans were rubbish at the majority of essential survival skills. 

“Where are we going?” John asked, breathing on his hands, which were slowly getting numb. He regretted forgetting to take his gloves. Fawnlock, who wore nothing more than his scarf with which he was inseparable, seemed to not pay any attention to the cold, walking casually through the bushes as if it was the middle of a sunny day in summer. His thicker fur must have been responsible for that temperature resistance. Lucky him. John half wished that he could grow some handy fur, at least in some strategic places to keep himself warm. 

“Where are we going, Fawnlock?” he repeated, mainly because he was getting bored of walking in silence. The other reason, a bit harder to acknowledge, was that he didn't feel very confident in the forest after dusk. The last time he entered the woods late – though not as late as now – was when he brought injured Fawnlock home. That was a rather horrifying experience he wasn't looking forward to living again.

“Prześwit,” the fawn replied matter-of-factly, as if that name should have explained everything to John. 

“Okay... What's that psh... pshesh... that thing?”

Fawnlock genuinely wanted to explain it, but it was obvious that he lacked English words to express the concept he had in mind. He tried to convey the knowledge in his mother tongue, but John didn't understand anything, not even punctuation marks. The fawn gave up on sophistication.

“Mągić. Lótśą. Big tręę.” 

“A magical tree, huh? Sounds like fun,” he said with only a tinge of sarcasm. He couldn't help it. “What does it do? Can it talk? Like that tree from Pocahontas?”

Fawnlock glanced at him as if he was convinced that his friend's brain had been replaced with pebbles. “Śiłły Jóhń.” After a moment of pondering, he asked. “Whąt iś Póćąhóńtąś?”

“Doesn't matter, never mind...” 

A few moments later, Fawnlock finally seemed to notice that his friend was cold. The human's hairless hands and finger were reddened and numb. If it continued, John could have got some mild, though unpleasant, frostbite. Fawnlock didn't want to let that happen. Without saying anything, he took John's hand between his own and rubbed it energetically to warm it up and restore circulation. Once he was satisfied with the effect, he did the same to John's other hand. 

John found this really surprising, but not unwelcome. He smiled at Fawnlock gratefully. Probably it was repayment for taking him on the sweets hunt. 

"Thanks, Fawnlock."

The fawn just nodded and they marched on. Finally, Fawnlock stopped. He did it so suddenly that John took another step before he realised that. 

“Are we here yet?” he asked, looking around. Good thing that the sky wasn't overcast and that the moon and stars shone brightly on the firmament, or he wouldn't be able to see much. His sight wasn't bad for a human, but it couldn't compare with fawns, who apparently were capable of seeing in the dark without any problems. Useful ability. At least one person knew where they were going. Hopefully, though John had his doubts. 

Honestly, the spot they chose for a stop, didn't seem spectacular. A place like any other in the forest – lots of trees, rocks, leaves, and anything else that one could associate with woods. If this was the magical place that was their destination, John was severely disappointed.

Ignoring John's question, Fawnlock pointed up to the nearby tree.

“Ćłimb,” he said in a tone that suggested zero tolerance for any opposition. “Łąśt big brąńćh śtóp.”

Out of habit John opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it promptly. Why bother? He knew he'd have to do what Fawnlock asked him to if he wanted to actually take part in the fawnish celebrations. Disobedience would probably cause him to be sent back home to bed. The boy was too curious to go back just yet, especially after so much effort.

With a sigh, John regarded the tree. He couldn't tell what kind it was. Something oaky, he guessed. The trunk was very wide, but several branches grew out of it, starting nearly at the ground level, thus making something that could almost be counted as a primitive ladder. At least he wouldn't have too much trouble with getting up. 

John craned his neck as high as possible to look up at the crown, expecting something to be there. A platform, a hut, a weird magical portal – something cool like in those fantasy movies. Didn't elves live among treetops, building their magnificent civilisation there? 

To the boy's huge disappointment, there was nothing but bare, leafless branches. He gave Fawnlock a sceptical glance, but when the fawn bleated impatiently, John didn't dawdle any longer. He climbed up branch after branch almost to the top, trying not to look down. Fawnlock was right beneath him. The fawn's movements barely produced any sound, but his antlers poked John's leg from time to time if he wasn't climbing fast enough. 

“What now?” John asked when he reached the last branch that looked as if it could hold his weight. There were some twigs even higher, but their resilience seemed questionable, so John preferred not to risk it. Despite his impulsiveness, he wasn't completely devoid of self-preservation instincts.

“Śit,” Fawnlock answered, doing just that. He pulled himself up and parked his haunches on the branch, patting the spot next to him encouragingly. Despite being several dozen yards above the ground, he didn't seem afraid of falling down. 

The same couldn't have been said about John. He was very much afraid of falling down and breaking his limbs or worse. That was why he decided to be extremely cautious. He took his place right next to Fawnlock, though it took him a few minutes until he felt safe enough not to clutch desperately at the bark. Better safe than sorry. 

“What now?” he wanted to know. So far nothing spectacular had happened. Worst holiday celebration ever, certainly nothing like Halloween. Or maybe he was just being grumpy due to lack of proper sleep. He had counted on an adventure and he only got sore muscles. 

“Łóók, Jóhń,” Fawnlock said, pointing his finger somewhere in the distance.

“Look at wh-” he started, but trailed off promptly when everything became clear. From up here he could see a clearing about twenty yards away. There was a weirdly-shaped tree there and a big bonfire in front of it. However, the flames weren't of orange or reddish hue like normally. They were venomously green, shining like jades. Perhaps it was a stupid thought, but John was reminded of Harry Potter and the teleporting fireplaces in the movies. He wanted to share that observation with Fawnlock, but he stopped himself in time. It would make no sense, since the fawn had no idea what a telly was, not to mention The Boy Who Lived. 

“What's going on there?” he asked instead. He didn't know why, but he lowered his voice to a whisper. Not that anyone could hear them here, obviously. But then, who knew with all these magical folk in the forest?

The fawn didn't answer. He stared at the clearing unblinkingly, enthralled. John rubbed his eyes and squinted, trying to force his eyes to focus on the mystical fire. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. It was like trying to look at something through a steamed-up window. He could see some shapes, some movements, some silhouettes circling around it, but nothing concrete. Ethereal will-o-the-wisps. It seemed that whatever was happening there wasn't meant for humans to see. 

A sudden melody cut through the night. It was like nothing John had ever heard. Eerie music, coming from the clearing with traces of a flute, a harp, and a violin in it, but so otherworldly were the notes that they surely weren't produced by any instrument made by humans. Beautiful, but the boy had goosebumps all over his body and they didn't come from the cold. It had nothing in common with the playful frog concerto he had heard some time ago. Here the music was haunting and disturbing. 

“Jóhń sąfę hęrę. Wąit, Jóhń,” Fawnlock said, and before his companion could protest, the fawn slid from the branch to the one positioned lower. He climbed down so fast that it almost seemed as if he had just flown down like a bird. 

John didn't like the fact that he was left alone. Not one bit. He peered at the clearing, trying to notice at least a bit of what was going on, but it was too difficult. Either his eyesight was too weak or someone simply didn't want him to play Peeping Tom. Why did Fawnlock bring him here if he couldn't see anything anyway? Stupid. He was cold and the music made him quite scared, despite his friend's assurance that everything would be fine. He wanted to go home. Coming here was a mistake. He'd had enough adventures for now. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Fawnlock returned. Probably no longer than half an hour, but to John it seemed like an eternity. 

“Where were you?” he asked when the fawn sat next to him again. Once he took a better look at Fawnlock, John's mouth formed a big, surprised 'o'. The fawn's body had been smeared with some sea green fluorescent dye that glowed faintly in the dark. Lines of paint ran through his antlers, his face, his chest and stomach, ending at the tips of his fingers and toes. Only the scarf was free of them. Overall, the fawn looked rather creepy and John felt a shiver running down his spine. In his hand the fawn held a small wooden box with intricate carvings on the lid resembling ivy. 

“Jóhń, ćłimb dówń ńów,” he said. That was something the boy was quite glad to hear. 

“Okay... You know, I think I want to go home now. Could you show me the way? Or better yet, could you walk me home?” he asked, slowly starting his descent. The fawn replied with a snort, clearly frustrated with how much his friend dawdled. 

“Ńó hómę Jóhń. Wę gó dąńćę!”

“Dance?” 

“Yęś!” 

John had a bad feeling about this. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he had that overwhelming need to run home, not caring that he'd most likely get terribly lost on his way there. Fawnlock looked odd with the green markings on his body. Almost as if he was someone else, someone unfamiliar and dangerous. For the first time John realised how different they were from one another and how the fawn's culture differed from the human one. 

Fawnlock must have sensed John's anxiety because he smiled at him understandingly. He moved closer to him and put his warm hand on the human's shoulder.

“Jóhń ńó śćąręd. Ęvęrythińg fińę. Fuń,” he promised. It made John feel minutely better. He took a deep breath and decided not to let himself panic. He was far too old to be scared like that. What would his Papa say if he saw him right now from heaven? Surely he wouldn't be proud if it turned out that his son was a coward. 

“Okay. I'm not scared. What should I do now?” he asked, puffing out his chest.

“Jóhń ńó móvę,” Fawnlock chirped, glad that his friend didn't want to go home anymore. His tail flapped excitedly, which looked rather amusing now that its tip was dipped in green paint. Just like a glow-worm. 

Fawnlock opened the box he held in his hands. John half expected it to contain the same substance that covered the fawn's body, but he was wrong. Instead of paint, it was full of russet powder. It looked as if someone had scraped some rust from an old gate and collected it for some inexplicable reason. The smell was different, though. Fawnlock's powder smelled of something herbal, like mint tea, but much stronger. The scent was rather pleasant, at least when it stopped tickling John inside his nose. 

“What's that?” he asked. 

The fawn replied with a name in his own language, so the explanation didn't really help much. John decided simply to watch what Fawnlock was planning to do with it. His friend surprised him. The fawn poured some of it on his hand – not more than perhaps a tablespoon – and then extended it towards John, who creased his eyebrows in confusion. 

“Śńiff, Jóhń.”

“Why? Is this some kind of drug?” His mum had told him that drugs were really, really bad and he should always stay away from them. They were really dangerous and could even kill you! John preferred not to experiment with them on himself. 

Fawnlock didn't say anything, just stared at him with his big, glistening eyes. If John read his body language correctly, the fawn wanted him to trust him. What other choice did John really have? Full of misgivings, the boy leaned over the fawn's hand and hesitantly sniffed the powder. 

It was as if dynamite exploded in John's nostrils. The blast moved through his nervous system, setting his body on fire. The boy took a step back and groaned, rubbing at his tearful eyes. He felt woozy and nauseous. Not only his head was spinning, but the whole world as well, just in a different direction. He had no idea anymore where was right, left, up or down. Everywhere and nowhere at once. That moment of absolute confusion didn't last too long, though. After maybe ten seconds of this agony, everything changed. John no longer felt pain. On the contrary, his heart was swelling with joy. For the first time he could open, truly open his eyes, and see how beautiful the world was in the middle of the night. Fear didn't exist. There was no cold anymore. Only joy and that wonderful lightness in his body, as if he didn't weigh more than a leaf on the wind. When he looked at Fawnlock, who seemed blurry and celestial like a vision, there was a big, stupid grin painted all across his face. He wanted to say something, but the only thing that left his throat was a hearty laugh. 

Fawnlock took his hand and guided him among the trees to the clearing. 

_Lights pulsating all around, kaleidoscope of colours, music, dancing, fire, jumping, eyes, fawns, hands, whirling, twirling, laughter, whispers, spinning, turning, magic, twisting, rustle, creaks, stomps, singing, sweat, drums, shrieks, chanting, dizzy, dizzy, dizzy..._

* * *

The cuddly sensation of being surrounded by something was the first thing John became aware of. He opened his eyes and blinked. And then blinked again, sitting up. It was early morning, judging by the rising sun, and John found himself alone in his garden, with a heap of leaves on top of him. He didn't remember how he'd got here, but he must have buried himself among them so as not to get cold. Or maybe someone had done it for him. Honestly, John didn't remember much from last night. The more he tried to focus on the last couple of hours, the more elusive his memories became. He sniffed some of the powder Fawnlock had given him and then... a whirlwind of emotions, nothing tangible.

John stood up with a wince. He felt so tired that he could barely move his limbs. Once, his mother had come back from her colleague's birthday party quite drunk and the next day she moaned and groaned all the time, complaining about headache and nausea. Maybe he didn't exactly share that experience with her, but at least he now understood how that felt like. 

Despite that, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had a wonderful time, taking part in something that possibly no human before him had witnessed. Pity that he didn't remember anything. What was even worse, now John had to climb back to his room through the window without any assistance. That could end badly. The boy decided that he'd rather face his family's wrath than break a leg. Being grounded for a week seemed like a better option than wearing a cast for a month. He dragged himself to the back door, hoping that it wasn't locked. 

As he passed through the path that led to the porch, he smiled. Fawnlock had been here, he was sure of it. All the pumpkins were gone. It seemed that his friend hadn't forgotten about John's permission to eat them. What a glutton.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. You're awesome!
> 
> An update so soon, I'm proud of myself. I hope you'll like this chapter. Kudos and comments makes me smile like crazy.

The snow came as a surprise. Granted, snow in the middle of November shouldn't have been such a sensation, since the occurrence wasn't even close to being uncommon. Still, nobody had expected such a slump in the weather. On Friday morning it was so warm that some of the braver people in the village walked around without jackets. The next day everyone woke up only to see the world covered in white powder and the thermometers reading minus one degree Celsius. It wasn't snowing anymore, but the precipitation had been so great that night that when John came to the garden just after breakfast, the snow reached almost to his knees.

The boy was delighted. It was the first snow this year. What was even better, he had made a deal with Fawnlock that the forest boy would come here today and play with him, which was something John really looked forward to.

They had seen each other a couple of times since Halloween. At first, John tried to ask about what had happened in the woods that night, but he never got a satisfying reply. Fawnlock was reluctant to speak about the fawns' celebrations. Perhaps he simply lacked the words. Finally, John gave up, deciding to let it go. He didn't want to sour their friendship by being too suspicious or prying. Nothing bad had happened and that was all that counted. And now they could play together in the snow! John had been waiting impatiently for hours, so when he saw a pair of antlers sticking out from behind a hedge, he grinned. The fawn, although very smart and clever, still was rubbish at hide-and-seek.

“Hey, Fawnlock!” he said, waving.“It's okay! No one's at home.”

John's mother, his grandma, and Harry had all gone to Edinburgh for a big clothes shopping spree and, after a lot of begging, had agreed to let the youngest Watson stay at home. He would have surely died of boredom there.

The fawn raised his head and smiled back at him. In one graceful leap he jumped over the hedge and padded lightly to John, not slowed down by the snow even a little **.** It seemed that the fawns weren't afraid of any weather.

“Jóhń! Fąwńłóćk śhów mągić!” he said excitedly. Whatever it was, he must have learnt it recently, which would explain his eagerness to show off. It was a rather adorable trait of his.

“Yeah? What's that?” The times where the pinnacle of Fawnlock's abilities was using his finger to flip over a stone were long gone. His magical education was progressing very fast. Maybe it was because they couldn't spend as much time together now as they did in the summer, and the fawn got bored at home.

Fawnlock, happy that John showed the appropriate amount of interest, stood next to him and turned around briskly towards the direction he came from.

“Łóók, Jóhń!” He pointed to the ground where his footprints were visible in the otherwise spotless snowy cover that snuggled close to the world. John paid attention, wondering what would happen in a moment. Maybe he didn't wait with bated breath for something out of this world – the initial awe that he felt every time the fawn used a spell had worn off a little – but he still remained curious.

The fawn cast one last glance at his friend, making sure that he was watching, and then he turned serious. He focused completely and murmured something in a hushed voice. Immediately, the wind picked up, but only in front of them, blowing very low above the ground. The snowflakes began twirling in the air and the powdery snow filled in the tracks completely. Soon there wasn't a trace of the fawn having walked there.

“That's cool!” exclaimed John with a smile. “No one will follow you in winter if you don't want them to!”

The fawn nodded, obviously very proud of himself. And John understood better now why hunters, who traversed the forest even amidst the snow, had never found any evidence of the tribe of fawns living there. The fawns were very careful, which was probably for the best. John maybe hadn't lived on this planet too long, but he was well aware that the human race didn't take too kindly to anyone they deemed different. If fawns were happy ruling the forest and pretty much shunning humanity – with the small exception of John, apparently – then it was fine.

“Hey, we should do something fun while there's snow!” John said, clapping his gloved hands together. This time he didn't forget about that important part of his outfit. No matter how nice it felt to have Fawnlock's hands around his own, that was hardly a practical solution if they wanted to play. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” he sang. Confusion painted itself on Fawnlock’s face, and John giggled.

“Why Jóhń śińg?” Fawnlock asked, creasing his eyebrows, as he apparently couldn't comprehend the strange human custom of randomly breaking out in song.

“Ah, it's a line from a movie I watched with Harry. She pretended to hate it, but I know that she secretly loved it. And people were singing there sometimes. Never mind. I'm gonna show it to you one day,” John decided, waving it off flippantly. He wondered how the fawn would react to being introduced to the world of motion pictures. That would surely be... interesting.

Fawnlock tilted his head and snorted, not liking one bit when he didn't know something. He looked as if he wanted to delve deeper into the topic of singing, but instead turned to another issue, which seemed more urgent.

“Whąt'ś ą śńówmąń?”

“Well... It's a... sort of a snow sculpture. You build a person made of snow. It's not as difficult as it may sound,” John assured him. “It's pretty easy actually.”

Having heard that, the fawn didn't hesitate. “Yęś. Wąńńą buiłd ą śńówmąń.”

John was glad that his friend agreed. He began the preparations by explaining what the snowman looked like and how to make one. Fawnlock seemed rather sceptical, since no human being looked like three spheres put on top of one another, but after some convincing he decided to accept this approximation for the sake of having fun.

And they did have fun. Running around John's garden while rolling a snowy ball that grew bigger and bigger with each step turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. The boys laughed – John letting out high-pitched shrieks and Fawnlock guffawing heartily – especially loud when one of them slipped and fell down. John suspected that Fawnlock was doing it on purpose just for laughs.

They took short breaks and spent them on making angels in the snow. Explaining to Fawnlock what an angel was would take too long, so John just told his friend that they were pretending to be birds. The fawn decided that it was beyond silly, but that didn't stop him from moving his hands and legs up and down, left and right eagerly.

Soon enough they had three large snowballs situated in the middle of the garden. The boys arranged them vertically. The snowman was almost as big as Fawnlock. John looked at their work, quite content with the result.

“Well, it's almost ready. We just need some twigs and pebbles. I think we're gonna do without a hat and a carrot.”

Fawnlock agreed. He knew what a hat was, obviously, John was even wearing one right now, and he had seen carrots some time ago when Gran was working on her vegetable patch. He even tasted them. That was a very informative day where he learnt a lot of new words. And ate some new words too. Still, even if he had figured out the purpose of a hat for a snowman, he didn't understand what possible connection it could have with a carrot. Well, it didn't matter, since they decided to skip it anyway. Maybe John realised how silly that idea was in the first place.

When it came to twigs and pebbles, Fawnlock was the expert. He told John to follow him and they both entered the forest. There wasn't as much snow here, even right on the edge. To make the work go faster, they divided the duties. Fawnlock was supposed to find a couple of twigs at least as long as his arm, and in the meantime John was in charge of collecting pebbles. It wasn't that difficult; the ground was littered with stones. Soon enough the pockets of his jacket were full.

Unfortunately, during his search he found something rather unpleasant. On a big rock lay some small rodent, perhaps a mouse, John wasn't sure. It looked like it was frozen solid, but the temperature wasn't responsible for its death. Something had cut open its stomach and its entrails were spilled on the surface of the rock.

“Poor mouse...” John said, looking at the unfortunate creature. Fawnlock, intrigued by John's words, came closer to him to check what was going on. For his friend's benefit, the boy explained, “It's dead.”

“Dęąd,” he echoed, familiarising himself with the word, but the concept itself clearly wasn't new to him. He didn't seem too shocked by the sight. John figured that while living in the forest the fawn had seen quite a lot of death in his short life. That was rather sad. To his surprise, Fawnlock added, “Dęąd móuśę mąkę móuśeś ćry.”

“Mice,” John corrected out of habit. “But yeah... I guess. Maybe a bird or a cat killed it.”

“Ór ą humąń.” Fawnlock snorted with something akin to contempt. Even if he enjoyed pretending to be human or wearing clothes, he wasn't blind to the faults of the human race. “Humąńś kiłł ąńd ńót ęąt.”

“Yeah... humans suck,” John had to agree, albeit grudgingly. “But some of us are nice.”

The fawn considered that for a while. “Jóhń iś ńićę,” he decided with a nod.

John smiled, really happy to hear that. “Thanks. Let's go and finish that snowman, yeah?”

They left the dead mouse alone. Burying it in the snow would be pointless, and digging a grave in the hard soil problematic, especially without proper tools. Besides, John really didn't want to touch the mutilated carcass. No matter how sorry he felt for the creature, that was just gross.

“Let's make the face first,” John said when they stood in front of their snowman again. He reached into his pockets, chose two of the biggest stones and used them for the sculpture's eyes. Then followed a dainty nose and a line of pebbles making a wide smile. When John finished, his expression mirrored that of the snowman. “Perfect. And now for the arms!”

John instructed his friend how to proceed and how to stick the twigs properly to form the arms. Then they took a step back and admired their masterpiece. However, John had the feeling that something was missing. He thought about asking Fawnlock to lend his scarf to the snowman, but he doubted that this request would meet with a favourable response. Instead, he took one twig from his friend, broke it in half on his knee, and then stuck the two parts on top of the snowman's head.

“It seems that we didn't build a snowman, but a snowfawn!” he said with a chuckle.

“Śńówfąwń!” Fawnlock seemed delighted by the idea. He touched the fake antlers and then patted his own. Whether it was to compare the texture or to simply signal the similarity, John wasn't sure.

Having built a snowfawn, they next engaged in a short, but eventful snowball fight. At first John seemed much better at it, but once Fawnlock got a grip on the rules the fight became much more fair. They had a lot of fun, but their play was cut short when one of the stray snowballs collided with an empty flowerpot, almost causing it to fall and smash itself to pieces. If that had happened, John's mother would have been furious, so he decided not to tempt fate. Besides, it was getting dark. Time to head back home. However, since the rest of the Watsons were out, the playing could continue inside for a couple more hours.

“Hey, do you wanna come to my room? I'll make us raspberry tea,” John offered. He really didn't want to be alone and this was a perfect opportunity to invite Fawnlock in. They wouldn't have to worry about anyone discovering them.

“Ókąy,” the fawn agreed without any objections. Still, as was his custom, he didn't want to use the door, but walked to the wall instead. He climbed up to the sill with amazing speed, then perched there and somehow opened the window. John shook his head. Some things just never change.

The boy chose the more traditional approach and went inside through the back door. He took off his gloves, hat, jacket and shoes and then moved to the kitchen. Fawnlock would be fine upstairs, so John didn't feel the need to check on him. He poured water into an electric kettle and turned it on. Then he pushed a chair to the counter. With its help he managed to reach the cupboard and get two mugs, two bags of tea and a sugar bowl. Just as he finished preparing everything, sugar in the mugs included, the kettle _pinged_ , announcing that the water had boiled. John finished the procedure by pouring the water into the mugs. Finally, he took them and went to his room, careful not to spill anything or scald himself.

When he opened the door, which wasn't so easy with his two hands taken, he found Fawnlock sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of John's bookcase. He had clearly moved and examined the plastic animals on the shelves because their positions were different. The lion and the crocodile must have been particularly fascinating to his forest friend, since he most likely hadn't seen them before.

John knew that he was probably too old to keep such toys anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to throw them away or give them to someone. They were a gift from his father. However stupid it was, looking at those plastic figures made John feel closer to him. John missed his Papa dearly.

To Fawnlock they must have had a different meaning. He held a plastic deer in his hand and stared at it in silence. His shoulders were slumped and his ears hung pathetically on both sides of his head. His eyes seemed distant and his lower lip quivered a little. Sadness had enveloped his normally bright face.

“Hey, Fawnlock, what's wrong?” John asked. He sat next to his friend and put the mugs aside for a moment. First he wanted to find out what had happened to make Fawnlock so upset.

The fawn said something quietly, but even if he had shouted the word it wouldn't have helped John to understand. It was a word in the fawn's language. John tried to repeat it as best as he could.

“Sherrinford?” he said. He must have been at least partly correct because the fawn nodded sadly.

“Yęś. Dęąd,” he replied, clutching the figurine tighter.

“Oh,” John replied awkwardly. He'd learnt that every time the topic of conversation switched to death everyone became uneasy. Condolences never helped, he had heard enough of them to know. Certainly not trite, meaningless clichés that people repeated over and over again. “Was he your friend?” Maybe the fawns had pets as well. In this case a deer. And that pet got killed by a hunter. That made sense. Animal or not, it always hurt to lose someone you loved.

But Fawnlock shook his head. “Fąwńłóćk, Móóśęćroft, Śhęrrinfórd. Humąńś kiłł Śhęrrinfórd. Óńę śprińg ągó.”

In that moment John understood. And it nearly broke his heart. “Oh God, he was your older brother? Fawnlock, that's... that's horrible...”

Acting on impulse, John wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him into a hug. He knew that every time he missed his Papa a lot he just wished that someone could lock him in a tight embrace and tell him that everything would be fine, even if that was a blatant lie.

Fawnlock responded positively to the touch. He buried his face in John's shoulder and let his human friend rub his back gently. After a moment, John broke the silence, feeling like this was a good moment to talk with Fawnlock.

“You miss him a lot. And it's okay. There's no shame in being sad and even crying. I know how it's like. I used to be sad all the time. Humans killed my Papa. He was the one who got me that figurine of a deer.”

Fawnlock pulled back and gave John a horrified look. “Humąńś kiłł humąńś?”

“Yeah... We're awful like that. But even though the world can be really nasty and scary, it can also be good and nice. I mean, I'm sad that my Papa is dead, but I'm happy that my family moved here. If we didn't, I wouldn't have met my friend – you.”

The fawn offered him a small smile. “Jóhń frięńd. Jóhń ńó hórribłe. Jóhń góód humąń.”

John smiled back. He reached for the abandoned mugs and offered one to the fawn. Fawnlock took it, but not before he put the figurine back on the shelf in its rightful place. John sipped the tea with his arm around the fawn, while Fawnlock rested his head against John's shoulder. They both stared in silence at the plastic deer – a memento of all the things they had lost, but also of everything they had gained.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. Twice. You're awesome!

As much as John liked it when his family went away to shop in faraway places, it unfortunately always had rather unpleasant consequences. Namely, clothes. His mother and grandmother just couldn't help themselves. They simply had to buy something for him – a new hoodie, trousers, shirt, hat, pants or socks – regardless of the actual need or the boy's opinion on the matter. John's fashion sense could be pertinently described as 'please, no'. The older and more worn out his attire was, the more comfortable he felt in it. 

This time his mother had outdone herself. She decided that the autumn had been very harsh and that the approaching winter with December at the door would be even worse, so she made it her point of honour to equip the youngest of Watsons with gear appropriate to combat the hostile weather. That meant a white, puffy, awkward and absolutely horrible wadded jacket, which John had no choice but to wear every time he went out. No exceptions and no mercy. Yes, the white atrocity was really warm, he had to give it that, but at what price? With it on, John looked like the Michelin man. Or that marshmallow monster from Ghostbusters. He surely shared with them grace of movement. Where had his mother even found this jacket? At a discarded movie props auction?

As he trudged grudgingly through the forest to meet his friend, the occasional snowflake landing in his eye, he suspected that the fawn's reaction wouldn't be very favourable. He just had no idea how much. 

The moment John walked into the clearing where they usually met, the fawn's eyes opened wide. A second later he threw his head back and roared with laughter, frosty tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Despite having nothing more than the scarf and his own fur on, he seemed perfectly fine in the biting cold. Something to be envious about. He didn't need any ridiculous clothes to keep the winter at bay.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh all you want, see if I care! At least I'm not freezing!” John huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Or at least he tried to, but he ended up flapping them helplessly like a drunken penguin. 

This sent Fawnlock into another fit of giggles. 

“Jóhń śńówmąń!” Fawnlock squealed between cackles. It seemed everyone had some association with the blasted jacket, aside from Mrs Watson, who remained extremely pleased with her purchase.

John pouted, not amused. Fawnlock must have understood that a sulking friend equalled no fun, so he dropped the topic. Not the smile, though. If John could, he would have thrown a snowball right at his smug mouth.

“Jóhń płąy?” the fawn asked, his ears flicking rhythmically as he spoke. Either that was a manifestation of his excitement or he simply wanted to get rid of the snowflakes stuck to his fur. 

“Sure. What are we gonna play?” John wanted to know, glad that they had stopped discussing his outfit. 

Fawnlock opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it promptly. His eyebrows furrowed, as if he had stumbled across some difficult, intellectual problem that would require hours upon hours to solve. John knew that look very well, since he had witnessed it on many occasions, sometimes several times a day. It meant that his friend lacked the words to express himself properly. 

“Jóhń ąńd Fąwńlóćk gó... ruń?” Fawnlock tried. He shook his head vehemently, not satisfied with that sentence, and tried again. “Wąłk? Łęąp? Dąńćę?” No, that still apparently wasn't it. The forest boy was growing more and more frustrated with the stupid human language. He muttered something in fawnish, but that obviously didn't help the situation much. 

“Maybe just show me, yeah?” John proposed, wanting to spare him further irritation. The fawn readily jumped at the opportunity and grabbed John's hand without another word, bringing him to the other side of the clearing. 

What John saw wasn't something he'd expected, but he sighed inwardly in relief. After such a confounding introduction he had feared that whatever they were going to do, would be especially weird and dangerous, even more than what they normally did. Good thing that this time he was wrong. 

“I think that the word you were looking for was 'slide',” John supplied with a small smile. In front of them was a frozen puddle, maybe two yards in length and one in width. Its surface was ragged and opaque – clear proof that the fawn's feet had touched it numerous times already. 

“Ślidę, yęś!” Fawnlock repeated, and just to dispel any remaining doubts, he decided to demonstrate what he meant. He took a few steps back, lowered his head, tapped his foot on the ground and then charged at the slide, as if the poor puddle was an enemy to be vanquished. One belligerent battle cry later the fawn found himself on the other side, having gracefully slid across the obstacle.

“Wow, a flawless victory over such a mighty foe!” John burst out laughing. Instead of going into a sulk, Fawnlock actually joined him in his laughter. Perhaps he didn't quite understand the sarcasm, but wanted to guffaw along with John anyway. It was all for fun, after all. 

Thankfully, the horrible jacket left John's legs free and didn't prevent him from taking part in the game. Something so simple as getting across an icy surface brought them surprisingly much joy. Still, after a while it did become a little repetitive, even with Fawnlock's frankly ridiculous battle stances. 

“Too bad it's not bigger,” John said, watching as his friend performed something similar to an aggressive pirouette. “There's not enough space for us to slide together.”

His words struck a chord. Fawnlock stared at him and the mischievous glint in his eyes told John that his companion had come up with a brilliant idea. 

“Jóhń ćómę. Fuń!”

“Where do you want me to go?” John inquired.

“Óbvióuś. Śiłły, Jóhń! Ćómę!”

The boy was a little indignant at being called names, so he rebelliously didn't budge. But Fawnlock would have none of that. Instead of explaining, the fawn decided to take matters into his own hands. Or at least to take John's hand into his own and lead him across the barren forest. 

The ground was covered in a small layer of snow. Every time they accidentally nudged the branch of a tree or a bush, powdery crystals twirled in the air like pixie dust. Winter could be really beautiful. Hardly a redeeming feature, though, when John had to suffer so cruelly under his jacket's oppression.

Despite the forest having a completely different appearance than during the summertime, as most of the plants were either gone or hidden beneath the snow, John realised, to his surprise, that he recognised the path they were taking. If he wasn't mistaken, this way lead to the lake, where they had bathed many times during the warm months. Obviously bathing right now wouldn't be very smart. John had his suspicions, but said nothing. He'd see for himself soon enough what was in store for them. 

His sense of direction hadn't deceived him. After a few minutes they arrived at the familiar spot. Well, familiar, but completely different at the same time. For starters, all the ducks and swans had disappeared, moving to some warmer location. There was no hum of crickets or gentle buzzing of bees, only the quiet swoosh of the wind. Instead of a fragrant bouquet of wild flowers, John could smell the frost, tickling the insides of his nose. The lake, so well-known and yet so altered by the winter. 

When Fawnlock pointed to the frozen surface, John knew that his prediction had come true. 

“Ćómę, Jóhń!” Fawnlock squealed, skipping excitedly towards the pond. The human boy was far more reluctant, not only because of the jacket that hampered his mobility. 

“I don't think it's such a good idea, Fawnlock,” he admitted haltingly, not wanting to sound like a dull spoilsport. Sliding across frozen puddles was one thing, but playing on a frozen lake? That was dangerous. Every winter there were news stories on the telly about people drowning because of their recklessness. Even the teacher at school warned them against the ice for it was a treacherous force. 

John's refusal dampened the fawn's enthusiasm. He turned around and stared at his friend with confusion. 

“Ńó fuń?” The tilt of his head showed without a doubt that he had no clue what the problem was. It was John's job to enlighten him. Fawnlock could be such a baby sometimes.

“Oh, I'm sure that it would be fun to slide across a lake. But I don't think we should risk it, you know? What if the ice gives way underneath us? That would be really not good. Dangerous, I mean. We could...” John paused. He almost proposed going to an ice rink and playing there safely with ice skates on their feet. But obviously they couldn't do such a thing. Aside from that one time during Halloween, the fawn wasn't really welcome in the village. Going there again would probably be much more perilous than playing on thin ice. 

That moment of hesitation cost John the upper hand and consequently Fawnlock's attention. The forest boy snorted, dismissing all concerns and warnings. He knew everything best, of course. Without another look at John, he skipped towards the lake and stepped on the ice carelessly. He didn't show in any way that the cold was an issue to him. The soles of his feet must have been really thick. John instantly began to wonder about the limits of the fawns' endurance and their magic. Would Fawnlock be able to walk on lava? If he could, how awesome would that be? Well, that was unlikely anyway. If he could be injured by a shard of glass, he wasn't indestructible. And that worried John. Because Fawnlock apparently didn't think the same. 

“Jóhń, ćómę!” the fawn yelled. Laughing, he took a run-up and slid across several yards of ice, landing on his bum. That made him laugh even louder. Somehow John thought that it was done on purpose, a show performed for his benefit, as proof that the ice was indeed fun and John should either join or miss out on everything worth doing. Still, John remained adamant.

“No, I think we should get back, you know? That puddle was enough for us. Come on, let's get back,” he said, though he knew how little effect his beseeching would have on his stubborn friend. Of course. Nothing could get through that thick, antlered skull of his. 

“Ńó, Jóhń! Fąwńłóćk–” 

The rest of the words didn't reach John's ears, as they were drowned out by a loud crunch. The fawn looked down, almost in slow motion, both surprised and scared at what he might see there. A large crack appeared right under his foot. To John's horror, that one single, erratic line spread out in every direction, creating an interconnected web of cracks. A deadly alphabet of nature written on a fragile surface, ready to shatter at any moment.

The fawn was petrified, absolutely stunned. Not a muscle twitched in his body as he stared downwards. He didn't even blink or take a breath. 

“Fawnlock!” John cried out, rushing to the lake's bank. He didn't step onto the ice, not wanting to make the situation even worse. He thought frantically about what to do. Should he go back to the village and fetch someone? No, that would take too long and the secret about fawns would be discovered. Solve one problem just to create ten more, a terrible idea. Should he scream and try to summon Fawnlock's mother or Moosecroft then? Were they even around? No, John had to deal with the situation on his own, no matter how hard that would be. His friend counted on him.

“Fawnlock, don't move!” he told him, which was pretty stupid, since the fawn had completely frozen in place. “Um... Suddenly, at least. No sudden movements. You should just come to me slowly and carefully. Like step after step. Okay? You can do this!”

The fawn didn't react, so John repeated his instructions in a slightly firmer tone, just like his mother did with unruly patients. He would have gone to him and taken him to safety, but his added weight would only endanger Fawnlock even more. John hated to feel so helpless. Seeing his friend in mortal danger without being able to assist him was awful. One day John would become a great doctor and he would help all the people, never feeling helpless again. 

“Fawnlock, please!”

The fawn finally listened to John's plea. Though he was scared out of his mind, the boy started to slowly approach his friend. He barely bent his knees – he simply slid inch by inch on completely stiff legs. John wasn't sure if that was a better method, but as long as it was effective, he wouldn't complain.

“Yes, that's right! You're doing fine, Fawnlock. Really great. Just a little more. Just–”

Everything seemed to happen at once, though realistically there had to be some sequence of events. However, to John's terrified mind such laws of logic didn't apply. All he knew was that he heard a rumbling sound, a scream, and that his friend fell into the water, the dark abyss closing above him and pulling him deep inside. 

“Fawnlock!” John yelled at the top of his lungs. He had to do something! The time for words was over, now it was action that counted. Though there was a risk that they both could die, John braced himself to enter the ice and try to save his friend. 

Before he could even put his foot on the ice, Fawnlock popped out of the lake with the speed of a champagne cork, accompanied by a loud splash and a cascade of icy cold water. Stunned, John stared for a long moment, unable to believe his eyes. Whether Fawnlock had accomplished this feat with the help of his magic, his own dexterity, or some other force, John was unsure. Whatever the reason, Fawnlock was now on the cracked ice again, crouching on all fours. The forest boy looked like the very picture of misery. His fur was obviously soaked, sticking piteously to his skin. Same with the scarf. His eyes were wide open and filled with fear, when he fixed them on John.

“Fawnlock!” John yelled. “Come here!”

John's voice seemed to break the spell. Fawnlock ran as fast as he could, still on all fours, mewling in distress. If John wasn't mistaken, there were tears on his face. Or maybe that was just water. Hard to tell in the current circumstances. Still, he was very worried when the fawn crawled to him so quickly, as if his tail was on fire.

“Fawnlock, you okay?” John asked, crouching near his friend once he reached the shore. Fawnlock was shaking violently, his teeth chattering. Maybe the freezing water somehow destroyed the natural protection of his fur. At least that was John's guess, since no one had educated him on the biology of fawns. There was no time for idle pondering, though. He had to do something. Maybe Fawnlock was out of the lake, but not out of danger yet. The boy took off his dreadful jacket, thankful now that it was so warm, and wrapped it around his trembling friend. Then he sat next to him and hugged him tightly, hiding under the fabric himself. He'd heard somewhere that sharing body heat was a very effective way to keep someone warm. And Fawnlock needed that desperately. The forest boy was cold as ice, perhaps even more since the wetness only made him feel the biting frost stronger. 

“It's okay, everything's fine now,” John murmured, rubbing his friend's back – and arms, and hands, and legs, and feet – trying to keep him warm. He was most concerned about the fawn's fingers and toes. Frostbite can be nasty, so he made Fawnlock curl into a tight ball with all his most pivotal parts carefully hidden and snuggle next to him. John tried to ignore the fact that he was slowly turning into a popsicle.

This whole ordeal must have been quite scary to the little fawn. His radiating confidence and that 'I know everything best' attitude were all gone. The poor thing shook like a leaf and sniffed loudly, whether from cold or distress John couldn't tell. Perhaps for both reasons. The temperature was clearly above zero now, but it was still cold. Too cold to just stay here in the middle of the forest with one shared jacket and being all wet. Maybe they could–

A flash and a clap of thunder.

John lifted his head heavenwards, fairly sure that his senses were playing a trick on him. That strange occurrence wasn't something he expected to witness – didn't storms happen only in summer? – but it made their situation about ten times worse. And that was an achievement all in itself.

As soon as Fawnlock heard the noise, he let out a sharp fearful cry and pressed himself even more against his friend, as if wanting to climb onto his lap. Now he resembled a wet, terrified ball of fur, who sobbed a little and cried for his mum, if John understood him correctly. Coincidentally, that was exactly what John wanted to do himself, but in the current situation he had to be brave for the both of them. 

“It's okay, Fawnlock. Everything will be fine. We should go home. Do you live somewhere nearby?” he asked, though he doubted that the fawn actually heard him. There was another crack of thunder and a fierce gust of wind covered the sky with a veil of leaden, dark clouds. Before John even had time to think that it couldn't get any worse, heavy rain started, mixed with snow. 

“We need to hide somewhere!” he yelled, trying to be louder than the forces of nature. Fawnlock didn't respond, far too terrified of the thunder. John was unwillingly in charge again. He was fairly certain that he had heard once that you shouldn't hide under a tree during a storm because that was dangerous. John definitely didn't want to find out for himself whether that was true or not. And yet they couldn't stay out here in the open at the mercy of howling winds and huge drops of water bombarding them from the sky. John looked around frantically and then got an idea. “There! That bush! Let's get under it!”

The bush was nothing more than a mass of bare twigs jumbled chaotically together, but better that than nothing. And no stray lightning would bother to hit it. It was too small, John decided. Hoped.

Making Fawnlock move wasn't an easy task. The hardships had turned the fawn into a stubborn, petulant toddler who barely understood what was said to him. It took all of John's patience, powers of persuasion and intimidation to move his friend under the bush. Their situation didn't improve much, though. They were still cold, and wet, and starting to get hungry. Unlike John, Fawnlock didn't suffer in silence. The more miserable he felt, the louder his whines and cries became. Even if the noise grated on his nerves, John remained a good friend, making sure that the fawn was as comfortable and warm as was possible in their current situation. With bluish lips he murmured right into Fawnlock's ear that everything would be just fine. Not that the youngest Watson believed that much. 

After what felt like an eternity of biting cold, Moosecroft somehow materialised in front of them. John had no idea how he'd done it – was it magic or had John simply not been paying attention? Whatever the answer, the older fawn stood there, looking down at the unfortunate children with a condescending expression on his face. The rain had soaked his fur and that was enough to put him in a bad mood. Despite that, John had never been so glad to see Fawnlock's mean brother. 

“Moosecroft!” he gasped. “You've got to help! Fawnlock is–“

The older fawn didn't give him a chance to finish that thought. He sighed, shook his head with exasperation and then waved his hand in front of John's face. Immediately, the boy fell limp to the ground like a rag doll, losing his consciousness. 

When he woke up, he was lying in his own bed under the warm covers. As he found out later, his mother had discovered him sleeping on the porch. After the initial shock and the relief that he was fine, alive and unharmed, Mrs Watson became furious because the day's ordeal had dirtied and torn the boy's jacket beyond any hope of repair. It had to be thrown away, no other choice. Even though John was grounded for two weeks for that, it was still worth it. 

He didn't see Fawnlock for quite some time afterwards, but the next morning he found a bunch of herbs on his windowsill. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he recognised them as the ones he was administered during his illness. Whoever had delivered them had great timing, since John developed a sore throat and a nasty cough. He ate all of them just to be safe. And the next time he and Fawnlock met, they unanimously decided never to discuss the lake incident again, pretending that it never happened. The only difference was that Fawnlock stayed away from any frozen puddle, refusing even to look in their direction for too long.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. Twice. You're awesome!

November had ended without John noticing and December was passing just as swiftly. Among the boring classes, tedious homework, and the happy moments when he could go out and meet with Fawnlock, even if only for a while, time flew by imperceptibly. Maybe the season was at fault, shortening the days of play time and lengthening the nights that John slept through. The nightmares were sure to appear after everything he had seen and experienced, so he occasionally had to battle them in his restless slumber with varying degrees of success. At least he never wetted his bed like that Anderson's boy. His dignity remained intact. 

The morning of Christmas Eve snuck up on the boy like a thief in the night. The whole family had gathered early in the living room, including Harry, who surprisingly hadn't run off to one of her shady friend's house. Truly a time of miracles.

The Watsons and Mrs Harper had already prepared everything for holiday celebrations. Fairy lights had been hung outside, as well as the paper decorations on the windowpanes and bright red socks on every headboard. Even Grandma's special butter cookies with vanilla and cinnamon were already baked, cooling down now on two big plates on the kitchen table. At one point there had been a third plate, but the Watson children somehow made its contents vanish into thin air in less than a quarter of an hour. 

The only thing missing was a Christmas tree. Not for long, as it turned out. The door to the living room flung open as Mrs Watson and Mrs Harper carried a pretty spruce inside with some difficulty. Trying not to knock anything down to the floor as they manoeuvred it, they finally  
decided to place the eight feet tall plant close to the fireplace to make the room feel more cosy, but not close enough to create a fire hazard. Safety before festivity. 

"John, Harry! Go and fetch the decorations!" Mrs Watson commanded, quite pleased with her purchase despite her tiredness.

The children raced to the attic and returned a moment later, holding several boxes and bags filled with colourful baubles, chains, and small figurines made of straw or wood. Even though Christmas trees had been standing everywhere for at least a week now - and for nearly a month in shops, much to the customers' annoyance - in the Watson household they always waited until Christmas Eve for preparations. That was the tradition they all honoured without even needing to discuss it. 

Decorating of the tree began to the accompaniment of laughter and playful banter, especially between the siblings. Harry found a small scarecrow toy and decided that its hair looked more decent than John's. John in turn told her to stuff herself up with hay. Mrs Watson chastised them half-heartedly and the grandmother only chuckled. 

And yet there was a blemish in the idyllic picture. Their hearts weren't filled with Christmas cheer. Not even John's. The same John who usually couldn't wait for gifts, carols, and pudding, just couldn't summon up any enthusiasm. Everything seemed phony. Harry's joke was too forced, and so was John's reply. Mrs Watson's smile resembled a cardboard cut-out, while her mother's laugh was just a tad too loud. They were bad actors in a play, fulfilling a duty, an obligation to have fun and be merry in this wonderful time of year, but not one of them truly felt it. And no one mentioned why that was. The elephant in the room had been conveniently swept under the rug. 

Finally, all the ornaments had been hung on the branches. The only thing left was the golden star that would crown their efforts. It remained hidden in a plastic bag with a smiling Santa Claus and reindeers on it, but everyone knew that it was there. And yet no one seemed eager to take it out and put it on top of the tree where it belonged. All four of them just stared in silence, their eyes fixed on the tip of the spruce. 

The reason why the Watsons always left the tree for Christmas Eve was that Robert Watson returned home that day, having obtained a pass from the base he was stationed in. He used to come back to his family and then help with the tree. Since he was the tallest, the finishing touches were always his duty. He used to put the star on the top while the children laughed and clapped their hands. But now he wasn't here anymore. The silence grew deeper, unbearable. The room seemed to get darker and colder, despite the fire cracking pleasantly in the fireplace. 

“I think I... I'll bring the ladder.” Mrs Watson's voice wasn't louder than a whisper but still almost deafening in the overbearing stillness. She ran from the room with her hand pressed over her mouth. No one replied, or commented on the fact that her eyes were full of tears.

“I... I'll be back in a moment,” Harry announced, then disappeared just like her mother, letting out a broken sob that was cut short when the door to her bedroom closed behind her. 

John and Martha were the only ones left in the living room. The boy stared at the floor with both hands clenched. 

“John, dear...” His grandma moved closer to him, speaking gently and with kindness. “If you need a moment alone, you can go too. There's no shame in crying when you're grieving and missing someone a lot.”

John shook his head slowly, wanting to be brave, just like his Papa was. “No, Gran. I'm fine.”

She knew that he was anything but. And she wanted to do something about it. Her arms wrapped around the boy, locking him in a tight, warm embrace. Just as she expected, John didn't fight her. Her gesture was well received. John hugged her back, pressing his face into her stomach. He didn't cry though. Poor child, already full of inhibitions. 

Martha perhaps couldn't offer him much, but she could share her compassion, love, and life experience. She ran her hand through the boy's hair and spoke softly. “I know it's hard, John. But time heals. The pain will ease. Trust me.”

To her surprise, John took a step back and shook his head again. “No, Gran. I don't want the pain to go. It helps me to remember Papa and I don't want to forget him.” 

“Oh, darling...” She sighed. No one so young should have thoughts like these. Martha leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees, to be on the same level as John and look him in the eye. “You won't forget him. Never. If you love someone a piece of them will always stay with you. Your father will always have a big place in your heart. But he wouldn't want you to be sad, to suffer, to torture yourself. He always tried to make you smile and laugh, didn't he? I don't think that he'd like it if you cling to sadness on purpose. It's okay to cry when it gets too much, but you shouldn't dwell on the pain.” John probably didn't understand what she meant, so she went on. “I know how you feel, John. I felt the same when your Grandpa died.” 

John gave her a curious look. He didn't know much about his grandfather, aside from the fact that his name was Walter, he used to be a forester, and had died three years before John's birth. 

“I was very sad at first,” Martha continued. “And sometimes I still am because I miss him so much. But every time I start feeling sad, I try to remember a happy memory with him. There's plenty to choose from. I usually think about our wedding day or our honeymoon in Blackpool. Or when we held your mother for the first time. I recall that happiness and let it fill me. I'm sad that he's gone, but I'm thankful for the times we had. And even though it's hard sometimes, I'm smiling because he wouldn't want to see me sad. You have plenty of happy memories of your father. Think about them right now.”

John nodded slightly and did his best. He knew exactly what memory he should focus on. It was a sunny Saturday in July, two years ago. The whole Watson family went to the London Zoo to take a peek at many amazing animals. At first they were strolling together, but after an hour they parted ways. Harry was dying to see the dolphins and John wanted to visit the lions first, since he had seen The Lion King recently. To avoid a huge fight, resentment and possibly tears, his mother took Harry to the fish tank while his father went with him to behold the king of animals. John remembered being enthralled by the lion. So majestic and fearsome, even during its respite in the shadows. With Papa's help he read the information plaque and then Papa let him sit on his shoulders to have a better view. And later they went to eat strawberry-flavoured candyfloss. It was super sticky and a piece of it got stuck to Papa's nose. John laughed at him and called him Rudolf the Red-Nosed reindeer, which evolved promptly into Robert the Red-Nosed Papa. That was a happy, carefree day that could never repeat itself, not anymore. 

John didn't let that sad thought win. He took his grandma's advice and thought about Papa's smiling face and smiled back at it in his mind. And because thoughts often meander in the most bizarre of ways, he started to think about The Lion King. When he had seen that movie for the first time, he'd had no idea how much he would one day have in common with Simba. They both were small boys whose fathers were killed by a bad person. And they both were very sad after that, but eventually found some friends in the wilderness – or _a_ friend, Fawnlock, in John's case – who could make them happy again. And, of course, their Papas were watching over them from heaven. John often looked up to the sky to see if his father would appear among the clouds and talk to him. A few times he was pretty sure that he saw a human shape there. There was no talking, though. Maybe John needed to roar properly or something first.

All this made him feel a little better. Even though the happy memories were bittersweet, it was still better than just sadness and nothing else. 

“Thanks, Gran.” He hugged her again, this time out of his own volition. 

“Always, love.” She rubbed his back to make him feel loved and secure. That was what family was all about. 

“You should tell that to Mum, you know. How to think about Papa and not be sad,” John proposed, when he let go of her. 

Martha just sighed. “I tried, John. But she has her own ways of coping. She's doing what she can, but she needs more time. Your mother is a tough woman. She'll be fine.”

After a moment, Mrs Watson returned with the ladder and Harry followed suit. Everyone pretended that nothing had happened and their absence didn't have any other reason than truly fetching something. Their reddened eyes surely were irritated by the dust in the cellar, nothing more. John's mother marched up to the Christmas tree and placed the ladder right next to it. 

“All right. Harry, John, hold it while I climb up. It doesn't look very stable.”

The children obeyed at once while Mrs Watson bravely took three steps up, having taken the star in her hands. She hesitated for a moment, but she didn't let doubts stop her for long. With an expression that was as sad as it was determined, she finally put the star on the top. Then she climbed down and stood between her children. She put her hands around the both of them. 

“I think it's a very nice Christmas tree," she said. “We've really done good.”

“Yeah,” John agreed. 

His mother smiled at him. “Go on, John. Turn the lights on. We need to see it in all its glory.”

John liked that part the most. The moment when the magic seemed to begin. The boy sped up to the wall, knelt down and stuck the plug into the socket. The tree lit up immediately with greens and reds and yellows. John gasped and laughed in joy, seeing the beauty of colourful sparks. He expected similar reactions from his family, but he got something different instead. 

“ _Eeeek_!” 

“Harry? What's wrong?” Mrs Watson asked, her forehead creased, when her daughter let out a frightened shriek.

The girl lifted her finger and pointed it at the window in an accusatory fashion. Her family collectively looked in that direction.

“I saw a deer there! Right outside our home! It was peeking inside!” 

“There's nothing there, love,” Martha said soothingly, trying to calm the agitated teen, but to no avail. 

“I know what I saw! I'm not lying!” She stomped her feet in irritation. 

“Deer avoid humans, Harry,” said Mrs. Watson, rational as always. “They hardly leave the forest. I've never seen one here so close to the village and I grew up in this house.” 

“It had antlers and everything! I don't know, maybe it got hungry and went out looking for food? How should I know what it was doing here, I'm not a biologist! But I know what I saw,” Harry repeated adamantly. 

John and Martha exchanged clandestine glances. They had a pretty good idea as to who the visitor was. Him being a deer was only part of the much more complicated truth. 

“I'm sure it was just your mind playing tricks on you,” said Mrs Watson, unconvinced.

This only annoyed the hot-tempered teen further. “If you don't believe me, let's go outside and see! There will be tracks in the snow!”

John experienced a feeling of déjà vu. It was just like that time when Fawnlock stole Harry's dress. Once again his sister was on the brink of learning all about the existence of forest folk. 

“Come on, don't be stupid. No one else saw or heard anything,” John said, rolling his eyes. “You're going nuts.”

The only effect he achieved was to incense his sister even more. 

“I'm gonna prove to you that I'm right!” she announced. Without another word she hurried to the hall to don her jacket and shoes. The rest of the family didn't have any choice but to follow her in this weird hunt for the phantom deer. 

The last time it had happened, John was quite nervous. Now, he wasn't even one bit. Why should he be? Fawnlock knew how to avoid getting caught. Magic was very useful in that.

Just as John predicted, the snow cover was undisturbed. An ideally flat and spotless surface, sparkling as it reflected the shining sun. John smiled brightly, glad that his faith in his friend paid off. 

“Well, unless that deer levitated above the ground I think we can all agree that you're really going crazy,” the boy teased.

Harry didn't seem amused. She scoffed and trudged to the window. She leaned down, examining the ground under the sill. Not even a magnifying glass would have helped her to find anything suspicious. She grew frustrated. But then she straightened up, glanced at the window and let out a triumphant, “Aha!”.

“What?” John asked, suddenly full of misgivings. 

“Something, or rather someone, _was_ here! Look!”

The Watsons gathered near the windowpane, staring at it curiously. They didn't need to strain their eyes to notice what Harry had discovered. There were two distinctive marks on the thin layer of frost covering the window: a print of a big hand with long, slender fingers and right next to it a small dot that probably came from someone's nose being pressed against it very hard. 

“Hm... That doesn't look like a deer's doing,” Martha pointed out with amusement, her hand resting casually on her hips in a relaxed pose. 

“It must have been some child from the village that got you fooled,” Mrs Watson backed her up. “You just saw a movement and a glimpse of their reindeer antlers out of the corner of your eye and your brain added the rest to make sense of it. It happens sometimes.” 

“They must have swept their tracks behind themselves with a broom or something so as not to get found,” John chimed in, not even lying all that much.

Harry scrunched her nose, disliking that explanation. She had made a fool out of herself and she definitely didn't like that. She gritted her teeth and stuck out her chin defiantly. Then suddenly a glint of understanding lit up her eyes. 

“Maybe that was the same brat that stole my dress! Oh, if I ever find them I'm gonna rip the legs out of their arse!”

“Harry, language,” Mrs Watson reprimanded her daughter, who only pouted in response like a petulant child. John had to bite hard on his cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Let's get back home,” Martha said.“No point in standing in the cold.” She gave a good example and started first towards the front door. 

The rest of the family moved after her more or less eagerly. John, who brought up the rear of the procession, was pretty sure that he noticed someone shifting behind the hedge. If that was who he thought it was, at least the intruder had enough sense to hide properly. No one stood a chance against John's pissed off sister, even a mythical creature straight from folklore, who, it seemed, just couldn't contain his curiosity.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. Twice. You're awesome! All the remaining mistakes are my own.

Christmas for the Watsons was the most important holiday of the year, so now that everything had been prepared, the proper celebrations could commence. That meant following countless special customs. Most of them were typically British, as traditional as they could get, but some stemmed from foreign lands. All because of Martha's late husband. His parents immigrated to Scotland from Eastern Europe and for pragmatic reasons changed their surname to something sounding more English. Walter Harper was a member of the first generation born on the British soil. However, despite abandoning their original name, the grandfather's family had cultivated their own culture in the privacy of their home. After their marriage, Martha adapted some of the traditions and the Watsons inherited them later.

That was why when the first star appeared in the sky everyone gathered together around the table, dressed in their Sunday best, to eat the ceremonial Christmas Eve dinner. Grandma started with an obligatory prayer. Seeing that John was simply drooling at the sight of a delicious, roasted turkey, she mercifully cut it short. The feast finally began. John stuffed his face with all the delicacies as if there was no tomorrow, munching contentedly at the fowl, the vegetables and the pigs in blankets, his favourite mini-sausages wrapped in bacon. He ate at least five and would have very much liked to devour more, but his stomach demanded a break. Thankfully, Christmas crackers provided a distraction from eating just in time.

"Okay! One, two three... now!" Mrs Watson exclaimed. A cacophony of cracking noises filled the room as everyone pulled at their neighbour's cracker.

"First!" John shouted, calling dibs on his presentation. He fished a small plastic toy out of the wrapper, put the pink paper crown on his head, swallowing – quite readily – his manly pride, and then read out his joke. "What animal is always wet?" He looked at his family, finding only curious stares and no answer. "A _rain_ deer!"

Even though everyone groaned, John still laughed, mainly at the memory of Fawnlock, all soaked in the storm like a wet rug.

"My turn!" declared Harry, lifting a slip of paper to her face. She managed somehow to wear her blue crown at a jaunty angle. Rebellious to the bone, even at the Christmas table. "What goes Ho Ho Ho thump? ...No one? That's easy! Santa laughing his head off!"

More amused groans and a genuine giggle from John.

"Grandma, what do you have?" the boy asked, his sparkling eyes fixed on the elderly lady.

"Ha, fitting! What nationality is Santa Claus? North Polish!"

That took John a few seconds to understand, but when he did, he roared with laughter. Oddly enough, Mrs Watson joined him promptly, having taken a glance at her own card.

"What does it say?" Harry wanted to know.

"Oh, I don't know if I should read it aloud. It's a bit racy. The innuendo is there."

That only fuelled the children's curiosity. "Oh, come on, Mum!"

"Okay, fine! So... What do you get in December that you don't get in any other month? The D!" Mrs Watson said, causing her mother and daughter to cackle. John just stared at them uncomprehendingly. What was so funny about the letter D?

"I don't get it," he admitted.

Mrs Watson chuckled and ruffled his hair fondly. "You will in a couple of years, darling, don't worry."

John pouted, feeling excluded from the fun. His mood improved soon though when the highlight of the evening appeared on the table. Pudding! He loved pudding. It looked weird, but he enjoyed the taste and waited for it the whole year. His portion disappeared immediately from his plate and he promptly took a second helping.

From time to time he – and everyone really – glanced at the empty chair at the head of the table. Christmas Eve without Papa and his funny stories just wasn't the same. Still, they tried their best to enjoy what they had, the family which, although incomplete, was staying strong. The advice his grandma had given John about treasuring happy memories was working quite well to soothe the budding sadness.

After the meal, when no one could eat even a crumb more, the time came for carolling together. The boy knew that he couldn't sing very well, but that didn't stop him from trying and pouring his heart into the songs. There simply could be no Christmas without singing 'Silent Night', 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' or 'Here We Come A-Carolling'. John sang so loud that he was sure that Fawnlock would hear him, even from afar. Well, _afar_ being probably the garden, since his inquisitive nature made him linger there to see what was happening.

There was one huge perk of celebrating Christmas on Christmas Eve and not one day after – they got their presents earlier. Not long ago John thought that Santa Claus always began his rounds from the boy's home to be on time everywhere. Now John knew that no such person existed. Last year Harry made him aware that their parents were in fact responsible for putting the gifts under the Christmas tree and not some old guy in red coat who wouldn't realistically even fit in the chimney. Understandably, the six-year-old was crushed at the revelation. Realizing that there was no magic in the world was a painful thing to go through and a part of John never fully accepted that. Everything was okay now, though. Of course there was magic in the world. Fawnlock proved it to him over and over again. John's faith in the supernatural had been restored. Who knew, maybe there was Santa Claus somewhere out there?

The moment of unpacking the gifts and seeing people smile was always nice. John's grandma got a bottle of some fancy red wine, elegant case for her glasses and a package of flower seeds that had a Latin name, long and impossible to read. John's mother produced from her box a bar of Belgian chocolate, a green blouse and a crime novel. Harry got a book as well, but about an actress John vaguely recognised from the posters in her room, the newest CD of one of her favourite bands and a red plaid skirt, which the boy deemed as ugly, but then he wouldn't be the one to actually wear it, so his opinion didn't matter. And finally John's presents, which were great and made him really happy: a batch of new Captain America's comic books, an encyclopaedia of human body for children with lots of pictures, and obviously a heap of sweets, chocolate and other unhealthy but yummy sugar bombs that he normally wasn't allowed to eat in excess. At Christmas the dietary regime wasn't obeyed by anyone. Thankfully.

After a bit of talking, joking around, and watching some silly comedy on the telly, the whole family retired to their rooms to enjoy their gifts in peace. John managed to sneak into the kitchen like a ninja and nick some leftovers of the turkey, sausages, pudding and cake, wrapping them up in a paper towel. Then he smuggled the spoils upstairs. Before he left the snacks on the window sill outside, he added to the package a paper crown from the spare cracker. He didn't want to scare Fawnlock with the small explosions, hence the lack of the cracker itself, but the fawn deserved a part in the Christmas celebrations. If John was correct, his forest friend still roamed nearby and would undoubtedly sniff out the treat and eat it eagerly. And if not, surely some animal would be tempted by free food. Christmas was a time of sharing.

Knowing that he had done good, John washed himself, slipped into his pyjamas and then went to his mother and grandmother to wish them goodnight and receive a kiss on the cheek. There was no point in doing the same with Harry, since she'd only throw her slipper at him or something. Besides, he didn't want her to kiss him, eww.

Quite sure that no one would disturb him now, John switched off the lights, turned on a lamp on his nightstand and lost himself in the comic books. He thought about diving straight into human biology, but decided to wait with that till tomorrow when his brain would be more receptive after a good rest. Comic books didn't require similar concentration, so as a late night read were simply perfect.

Half an hour later the window to his room opened on its own. His forest friend scrambled inside without asking for permission, leaving smudges of mud and melted snow on the carpet. At least he was gracious enough to close the window after himself to prevent the cold air from turning the room into a fridge.

“Jóhń,” he greeted him with a smile and licked his lips. His beloved scarf bore a new greasy stain. It could really use a good wash. “Męąt ąńd ćhóćólądę góód. Mórę?”

The little boy chuckled, putting his comic book aside on the table. “Glad that you liked it. But sorry, I don't have any more left...” Looking at Fawnlock, he realised something. “Where's your paper crown?”

“Ćrówń?”

“Yeah, that yellow paper thingy. You were supposed to put it on your head,” John explained, full of misgivings.

“Ćrówń ńó tąśty. Fąwńlóćk ńó łikę,” he said firmly with utmost seriousness.

John sighed, shaking his head. Some things just never change. Not wanting to dwell on the sorry lot of the paper crown, John decided to move to other things.

“I don't have any more turkey, but I have something else for you.”

Fawnlock's ears flapped curiously when John left the bed to fetch from his wardrobe a shoe box, neatly wrapped up in dark blue paper and adorned with a red bow. The boy wouldn't couldn't have achieved this level of artistry alone, so he was glad for his grandma's help. They had prepared the present together in complete secrecy. True partners in crime.

“Merry Christmas, Fawnlock,” John said with a bright smile, handing the gift to his friend. “This is for you.”

The fawn took the box with confusion, not sure what was expected of him. He sniffed at it, shook it, licked the paper, and even tried to eat the bow, but John stopped him in time.

“No, silly! You have to open it! Everything is inside!” John laughed. Fawnlock could be a truly ridiculous creature at times, but that was a part of his charm.

The forest boy still had some problems with how to proceed, so John helped him tear off the paper, throwing it on the floor in a heap of almost confetti. “Now just take off the lid.”

After a bit of fumbling, the fawn discovered how to handle the shoe box properly. The lid was discarded casually near the shreds of the package. Fawnlock finally could take a gander inside. He gasped. The box was full of candies, fudges and chocolates, all of them the ones that Fawnlock really liked.

“Thąńkś, Jóhń!” The fawn smiled excitedly, his tail flapping like crazy. That adorable sight caused the human boy to chuckle.

“Wait, Fawnlock. That's not all. There's something beneath all of that! Something better!”

The fawn mewled in disbelief, but inserted his hand inside the box to check if what John had said was true. What could possibly be better than food? His long fingers sieved through the sweets for a while before they clenched around something thin and moderately heavy. Fawnlock took the strange contraption out of the box and examined it carefully. The thing consisted of a black handle made of a strange material attached to a similarly black ring. Inside that ring was a weird concave piece of glass. Fawnlock had no idea what that was and how one could use it. Reading all this from the expression on his friend's face, John proceeded with an explanation.

“It's a magnifying glass. You use it to see things better. Like when there's something small on the ground and you want to know exactly what it is.” He took the gift from Fawnlock and placed it over his own hand to demonstrate. The hair and the lines on his skin were perfectly visible. The fawn let out a sound of awe, just like John had predicted. He knew immediately that it would be a perfect gift for his inquisitive friend. His grandma agreed with him wholeheartedly. She just warned him about the possible dangers and urged him to forewarn Fawnlock. Better safe than sorry. “Just be careful with it, okay? Especially in summer when the days are very sunny or in autumn when everything is dry. If you focus the beam of light in one place for too long you could start a fire. And that would be very not good. Don't torch your own home.”

Fawnlock scoffed, as if to show John that he wasn't stupid. But then he started smiling again, really happy about the gift. “Thąńkś, Jóhń.” Then he thought about something and looked at him apologetically. “Fąwńłóćk ńó hąvę pręśęńt Jóhń.”

“It's okay,” John waved it off dismissively. “Presents are nice, but Christmas isn't only about them, you know? It's about being together with your family and friends,” he said with conviction. And then remembered something. “Hey, I want to show you something!” John dashed quickly to his desk, grabbed the red fluffy antlers he had prepared earlier and put it on his head with a grin. “What do you think, Fawnlock? Do I look like a fawn right now?”

“Śiłły Jóhń,” Fawnlock summed up, but snorted with laughter. These antlers looked truly ridiculous, nothing like his own. Why would anyone want to have red antlers? And such wobbly ones too? Completely impractical. Humans were weird. Though he had to admit that he liked Fawnjohn.

John wasn't offended. He laughed heartily at the comment. If Fawnlock could wear clothes to pretend to be human, why couldn't John do the same with antlers?

Fawnlock tore his eyes off his friend and looked around the room, noticing a small colourful spruce near the bed and paper chains draped up high. From all the data he had gathered, it was easy to deduce that the humans were celebrating something, something odd. But from the ceiling hung a familiar thing, one that he was very surprised to see here.

"Jemioła!" he gasped, pointing to the few twigs above them, tied together by a red ribbon.

"Ah, yeah. It's mistletoe. You um... you have to kiss someone standing under it," John explained a little awkwardly. His mother, as always, went on a mistletoe-spree and just had to place it everywhere in the house, bathroom included. John suspected that she had done it to have a pretext to kiss her children every opportunity she got. Well, he didn't mind her goodnight kisses. Somehow they made him sleep better.

"Whąt iś kiśś?" Fawnlock asked, tilting his head.

John sighed. He knew it would end like this. Fawnlock just wouldn't let go until he got some kind of explanation. The boy thought about an easy way to describe kissing, but his mind went blank. He gave up. "It's easier to show you, I guess."

John leaned closer to his friend, and before he could think and deem it too weird, he pecked his cheek.

The fawn giggled in surprise. It felt nice.

"Fąwńlóćk kiśś Jóhń tóó!" He did just as he said. His kiss missed a little though because it didn't land on John's cheek as it was supposed to, but at the corner of his mouth. John blushed slightly and cleared his throat. Only adults kissed on the mouth.

"Góód, Jóhń?" Fawnlock asked, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Um, yeah... Um... It's getting a bit cold," John said just to say something. Anything to escape the mistletoe. "Let's go to bed, okay?" Since he had nothing but his pyjamas on, that seemed like a good pretext. When Fawnlock nodded, John slid under the blanket, leaving a spot for his friend. Fawnlock followed suit and soon John felt a warm, furry body cuddling to his side. A little wet too, unfortunately. The fawn was far from sleepy, or even being ready to rest peacefully.

“Whąt iś thąt?” he asked, pointing to a pile of colourful sheets of paper near John's side of the bed.

“Oh, these are the comic books I got for Christmas.” He took them and spread them on the blanket, opening the first one on the first page. “This is Captain America. He's very cool!” John introduced his favourite superhero by tapping his fingertip against the picture of a muscular man clad in a red and blue costume.

The fawn regarded him with curiosity. He had never seen a human in similarly odd clothes before.

“Whąt'ś ćąptąiń?” he asked. After a while of pondering he asked another question. “Whąt'ś ąmęrićą?”

John sighed inwardly, but explained both concepts to the best of his abilities. It wasn't easy since there were new words in every definition, so John had to explain more words which led to even more explanations and suddenly the boy realised that he had been talking with Fawnlock about the Amazonian jungle and yet the fawn's thirst for knowledge wasn't quenched in the least.

“You know what? Next Christmas I'm gonna buy you a primer and teach you how to read. And the Christmas after you're gonna get a dictionary, so you can read all the words yourself and teach yourself about them without asking so many questions,” he said finally, a little annoyed. The fawn either didn't notice or simply ignored the edginess, as he usually did when John was being obnoxious.

“Ręądińg góód?” he asked suspiciously, not really seeing the sense in mastering that particular skill.

“Yeah. Very good. There are books filled with knowledge. When you know how to read you can simply open them and learn everything on your own. You don't need a teacher or anything. And you can do it whenever you want, how many times you want and for how long you want.”

Fawnlock's eyes glistened while his mouth formed a big letter 'o'.

“Óh! Yęś! Fąwńłóćk wąńt ręąd humąń!” He bounced on the mattress, nearly falling off the bed in his excitement. Reading suddenly appeared fantastic.

“Okay, okay, I'll teach you,” John said, trying to calm him down. “But later. We can read that comic together now if you want.”

Fawnlock didn't have anything against that. He stared at the pictures completely engrossed in the story as John read it aloud, explaining some things along the way. The fawn didn't understand the majority of the plot, but that didn't discourage him. It was fun just to sit next to John and listen to his voice.

Not long after, tiredness overcame the little fawn. He went to sleep, dozing off on his friend's shoulder. John himself didn't last much longer. The comic book slipped out from his hand as he fell asleep with his other hand wrapped around his friend.

 

* * *

When John woke up in the morning, a little panicked that they would be discovered, the fawn and the box had disappeared. Where Fawnlock had lain, there was a small package made of leaves. John unwrapped it carefully to find a small figurine of a fawn carved out of wood. It glowed green a little, as if pulsating with magic. John smiled. It wasn't hard to guess who was the sender, or rather bringer, of this gift. John stood up from the bed and put it on his shelf, among the figurines of plastic animals he'd got from his dad. The most important shelf in his room, full of love and friendship.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who helped me improve the text. Twice. You're awesome! All the remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> So this is the last chapter of The Other Boy. Or... it was supposed to be the last, but I just can't leave these babies just yet, not when I still have so many ideas. I'm marking this fic as "finished", though you should probably expect at least two more chapters. And of course The Other Teen is coming. Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting. This fic wouldn't exist without you.

New Year's Eve seemed like a terribly dull holiday. At least to John Watson, aged seven, who had to spend it all alone. His family had decided that the boy was old enough to survive the night on his own without blowing up the house and/or himself, so they made their own plans. His mother was going to the party at her colleague's flat, his grandma would visit Mrs Bailey for an afternoon tea and something stronger at midnight, and Harry – nothing new here – would hang out with her bunch of no-good friends. John, too young to go out and too old to be baby-sat, was put in charge of guarding the household. Figuratively, of course. 

At eight, just before starting her preparations to leave, Mrs Watson told her son to wash himself and go to bed. John didn't like it one bit, but he was in no position to argue. Grudgingly, he obeyed. Once he was in his pyjamas and safely under the duvet, his mother gave him a good night kiss, reminded him not to let anyone in, and call her in case of any trouble. Then she was gone. The house became terribly quiet and deserted, since the rest of the family had already left.

John wasn't scared of being alone. He was a big boy after all, and he felt safe in his house. If not here then where? He didn't plan on spending the night in bed, cowering in fear. The opportunity of having his home completely to himself was too good to pass. John dressed again in his normal clothes and left the room. His undeniable bravery didn't stop him from leaving the lights on everywhere as he descended the stairs. Just in case. No one could blame him for being careful. And sensible, really. It was simply a precaution to avoid tripping in the dark. 

He moved to the kitchen, where he supplied himself with various snacks and drinks in case he got hungry during the night. When he returned to his room, he dumped the stuff on the bed. Now was the time to let Fawnlock know that the coast was clear. John went to the light switch and turned it on and off several times in a row. That was their sign. He had no idea if the fawn was nearby and if he would even notice the signal, but it was better than doing nothing and just sitting alone. Being alone was terribly boring. 

After half an hour when nothing happened John started to think that it was all in vain and he was doomed to loneliness. The boy sighed and decided that he might as well go downstairs and spend the night watching movies on DVD. No, nothing scary. Something light-hearted and funny or else he'd have trouble sleeping for a week. He didn't feel like reading – he'd already finished his comic books several times and the anatomy book had to be taken in small doses. Playing alone didn't sound too appealing either. Then, just as he grabbed the handle of the door to his room, the window lifted and a familiar shape slipped inside gracefully. 

“Fawnlock!” John exclaimed happily with some relief. There he was – his forest friend in all his furry glory, grinning at him as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The scarf round his neck was so dirty that it had completely changed its colour to brownish gray. 

“Jóhń,” he greeted. 

John instantly moved closer to him. “I'm so glad you came! My family went out and I'm really bored on my own.” 

To his surprise, Fawnlock seemed to understand him perfectly well.

“Śąmę.” 

John chuckled. “Well, then both our families suck. Do you wanna play? Maybe boardgames?” 

Fawnlock just nodded and sat on the bed, taking notice of all the yummy things that John had gathered. The human didn't even tell him to help himself. That was self-evident. Besides, no amount of prohibitions would stop the fawn from eating whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. John knew better than to try. Instead, he let Fawnlock treat himself and went to the shelf where he kept his games. He considered a few of them, his eyes sliding over the boxes. Monopoly? No, it always took ages to finish and explaining the rules to Fawnlock would be a nightmare, since he didn't even have any concept of money. No, no way. Cluedo? Interesting game, but somehow John had a bad feeling about it. No. Top Trumps with Lord of the Rings characters? Nah, the pictures were pretty but the game itself bored John easily. Besides, he didn't really want to show Fawnlock an orc or some other horrid creature and learn that they were actually real. No, better not. In the end, John chose Memory. It was easy enough to explain and quite fun to play. 

John slumped to the floor and beckoned the fawn to sit right next to him. He wasn't at all surprised when Fawnlock arrived at once, munching loudly and contently on a caramel candy. 

“Okay, so this game is called Memory. Have you played it before, Fawnlock?”

The fawn nodded eagerly. “Yęś! Fąwńłóćk płąy!”

“Yeah?” John knew him too long not to be a tiny bit suspicious of that claim. “So what are the rules?”

Fawnlock's ears twitched innocently. “Fąwńłóćk fórgót.”

John sighed. Some things would never change. Not saying anything more about it, John began the explanation. 

“So first we mix all the cards like this. You can see the bottom side now, but on the other there are pictures of animals like cats, dogs, birds, horses and so on. You need to find two that show the same picture. Okay, all cards are now set. I'm gonna start and show you how it's done. Yeah?”

Fawnlock nodded, not opposing. As they started the game, the forest boy got a hold of the rules pretty quickly. His memory was very good, so he won the first two rounds. But as soon as he started to lose he went into a full cheat mode, peeking at the cards furtively. 

"Hey, you can't do that!" John protested. 

Fawnlock responded with a big sulk of wronged innocence. John only huffed and puffed with indignation, his patience wearing thinner and thinner.

“You know what? Let's not play it anymore,” he decided. The fawn mumbled something loftily and was about to add something else when a loud whush and even louder bang blasted out through the air. Fawnlock's ears and tail shot upright and he tensed, motionless like a marble statue. 

“It's okay, it's just a firework,” John said, knowing what would come next. He wasn't mistaken.

“Whąt iś firęwórk?” Fawnlock asked curiously, though still rather distrustful.

“Um... It's something that you set on fire and then it flies to the sky and then it explodes leaving pretty colours.”

The fawn gasped, clearly intrigued. It must have sounded like magic to him. Human magic. 

John glanced at his watch. It was twenty to twelve, as he noted with certain surprise. 

“Wow, it's that late already? Come on, Fawnlock. It's gonna start soon. We're gonna watch fireworks!” 

John didn't have to tell him twice. The fawn wouldn't miss seeing human magic for the world. The youngest Watson lead them downstairs and put on his whole winter attire – shoes, hat, gloves, scarf and jacket. If the fawn thought they were going to the garden, he was mistaken. John climbed up again, this time not one but two storeys. He opened the creaky door to the attic. 

The light of a sole light bulb bathed the abandoned items that littered the floor and walls, gathering dust. Old furniture, broken toys that must have belonged to John's mother, some musty portraits and a billion other unbelievable things. John liked to come here during the day and explore, imagining these things in some other place and some other time when they were still useful and loved. When it was dark, he used to keep away because the atmosphere was too creepy. Like on a cemetery of bygone days, the realm where time ruled and banished everything to slow oblivion and decay. 

Now, with the company of his trusted friend, he wasn't afraid at all. He took Fawnlock's hand – just to keep him close in case he would get lost among the rubbish, obviously – and made a beeline for the big window at the back. The windowsill outside was so wide that John could lay down flat on it and only his feet would dangle beyond the edge. A perfect sunbathing terrace in the summer for anyone who liked such pastimes. 

John opened the window with some difficulty and leaned over the frame. The windowsill was entirely covered with snow, at least two inches. 

“Hm... We can't just sit there in the snow...” John decided. He read in his biology book that horrible things could happen to you if your kidneys stop working, so he didn't want to risk catching any nasty disease. He stepped away and looked around for something they could use as a blanket. He was quite lucky. In the corner lay an ugly moth-eaten rug, almost the perfect size. It was dirtier than Fawnlock's feet and smelled even worse – like a wet dog combined with cat's pee. Even the colour was similar. Fawnlock sniffed at it and made a noise of disgust. It seemed that even the little fawn had some standards. 

“Hey, it's better than nothing, yeah? Besides, when you wallow in mud and who knows what else, you don't look any better.”

The fawn stuck out his tongue and in retaliation for the insult refused to help with placing the rug in the appropriate place. John had to do it all by himself. Once it covered the sill's surface, Fawnlock didn't have any qualms about actually sitting down next to John. The human boy glared at him to show his disapproval, but as usual with the fawn, the annoyance was very short lived. John knew he was too soft when it came to his wild friend, but he couldn't help it. You had to forgive the people close to you or else you'd end up all bitter and alone.

As midnight neared, more and more fireworks lit up the sky. Reds, blues, greens and yellows shone up above their heads like ephemeral northern lights. The real thing didn't produce smoke, though. Fawnlock scrunched his nose when the wind carried the fumes in their direction, but he didn't insist on going back in. The beauty of the spectacle overcame the sensory inconvenience. 

The clocks struck twelve and the whole village went mad. Loud cheers of people in the streets, laughing, and more and more explosions, loud, soft, close, far, bangs, whushing, cracking. The enthusiastic displays of New Year's Eve celebrations weren't as impressive as the ones John had seen it London, but it didn't matter. Fawnlock was enthralled anyway. 

“Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot since the days of auld lang syne...” John sang. The fawn didn't interrupt him, actually listening. John finished the first stanza and then the chorus, after which he decided it was enough. His singing voice was pretty bad, so he wouldn't torture Fawnlock any further. 

“Wish we had our own!” John said, smiling after a particularly beautiful flare in the sky. Of course, children weren't allowed anywhere near explosives, but no one could forbid him from dreaming. 

Fawnlock didn't know that it was only wishful thinking. He pondered upon it for a moment, clearly wanting to impress his friend. Then he got an idea. 

“Fąwńłóćk hąvę mągić. Bęttęr thąń firęwórk,” he decided and then lifted his finger. He wasn't sure if it would work, since he'd never tried it before, but he hoped for the best. 

John gasped when something like a big bullet of green glitter shot out from the fawn's finger and exploded in the sky several yards above them. It didn't leave the usual sparks, though, oh no. For maybe three seconds the green silhouette of a human and another human but with antlers holding hands could be seen before it dissipated and disappeared forever. 

John laughed aloud and clapped his hands to show how much he liked it. The grin on the fawn's face couldn't possibly get any wider. He wrapped his arm around his human companion and shifted closer to him. It was warmer that way. And it felt quite nice too. 

“Happy New Year, Fawnlock,” John said, snuggling to him. “To many years together.” 

“Yęś. Tógęthęr,” he breathed out quietly. In that moment everything was as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a question for you, my dear readers. How do you like Fawnlock's accent? I mean "Hęłłó, Jóhń, ćómę płąy?" Would you like Fawnlock to talk like that in The Other Teen too or do you think he should talk normally? Tell me what you think :)
> 
> You can find more Fawnlock's adventures in the second part of the series [The Older Boy! ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7293211/chapters/16562941/)


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